
(ilass 1 O OODJl 
Book-Av3 



1887 



(m 







^y Camilla 4^. Von +^. , \asu^A 



SANTA BAKBAKA, CAL. 
L887. 



^ 3 ? 



50 



^3 



Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1SS7, by 

M. C. F. HALL-WOOD, 

[n the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 

All Rights Reserved. 



INDEPENDENT PRINT, 

Santa Barbara, Cal. 



TO MY 

DEAREST FEIEND AND COMRADE 

ANNETTE LA GRANGE 

THIS VOLUME IS DEDICATED. 



"Of Argeritile to si 
Were to besilen 



'KKC'V'S KKLIqUKS. 



^P^gIligIg. 



V 



HAT if some traveler should espy these leaves — 
These summer sea-leaves lying on the sand ? 
Some stranger grown half-weary of the land, 

Should gather up these strains my fancy weaves, 

With love and longing ? Ah, my hope believes 

Too much ! As fallen downward from my hand 
These sea-songs flutter, they upon this strand 

Shall waste their bloom, shall die, while no one grieves. 

O sanguine leaves, by furious tempest shocks 

Torn rude and bleeding from your native rocks, 
Faint adumbrations only can ye give 

Of that far underworld. The gift of speech 

Betrays me too, upon this alien beach, 

Then why should song of mine presume to live ? 



"Jv/eet +101100." 

|j AM sickened with sweets, I pine 

For the sound of a northern storm; 
The golden roses are too divine, 
The glimmering seas too warm. 

I am tired of the sunburnt South, 
Of her indolent circling doves; 

Her wines grow bitter upon my mouth 
And bitter her languid loves. 

I weary to hear once more 

The wind blowing wild and free; 

Not sighing over a sleeping shore 
But a power to shake the sea ! 

But a savage breeze that thrills 

The Delaware's icy breast; 
That flings in torrents the foaming kills 

From the Shawangunk's lordly crest; 

Bnt a wind that crashes through 
Great forests of fir and pine, 

That screams its war song up to the blue 
Of the Gatskill's distant line. 



"SWEET HOME. 

How I long to behold again 

Those hills, when snowstorms, hurled 
In maddening masses across the plain 

Cover the careless world ! 

And the wealth of that winter-land 
Its brave hearts, warm and true; 

O blooming gardens ! O golden strand ! 
I am weary — to death — of you ! 



j3 Jtn>eet kwie. 

INHERE goes Happiness down the street, 
With tangled hair and bare brown feet. 
A world of shadowy mischief lies 
In his bewildering Spanish eyes; 

The jacket is ragged, but gay the air, 
And Happiness runs — he knows not where ! 

Here comes Misery, riding slow; 

Cheeks and lips all wan with woe. 

Her sulky steeds their manes may toss, 

Slow must they pace, while she mourns her loss. 
Smothered in crape is the gracious air, 
And Misery rides — she knows not where ! 



jfefcOPE spread her airy wings for flight; 
l "7g) She left the sweet southwestern main, 
And wrapped in visions of delight, 
She sought her native land again. 

And I shall see, she said, and smiled, 
Again gay woodland waters flow 

Down deep descents, or wandering wild 
With wayward rivers seaward go. 

And 1 shall feel, she said, and sighed, 
The blessed breath of boundless woods; 

Shall greet the hemlock's ragged pride, 
King Lear of central solitudes. 

By woodland stream and woodland growth 
And waterfalls' resistless might, 

I shall revive the dreams of youth, 

She said, and spread her wings for flight 

By hope beguiled from sunlit seas 
I too my native country sought; 

O'erborne by childish memories, 

Ami Heaven, alas ! restrained me not. 



10 THE KETTJEN. 

Dawn smiled the smiling isles above, 
Night vexed my eyes with deserts gray; 

Blow, western wind ! The land I love 
Still lies a thousand leagues away. 

Sierras, deserts, prairie land, 

Fields, cities, gardens, turn and wheel 

In mystic waltz; broad rivers, spanned 
With slender webs of thrilling steel, 

Beel back and vanish ! In the night 

I listen to the muffled roar 
Of mighty lakes, whose billows white 

Plunge madly on a narrow shore. 

Or, following embroidered banks, 
The lovely Mohawk vale behold; 

Whose ancient forests' failing ranks 
Are touched with dying red and gold. 

At last, the river of my dreams ! 

The pale moon glittered on its breast : 
I saw therein the thousand streams 

That led me far in youthful quest. 

At last, at last, the purple range 

That colored all my thoughts for years; 

But O, the heights have suffered change, 
And barren seemed through barren tears. 



THE KETtlRN. 11 



What are these icy hills to me ? 

The dying beech — the maples bare — 
And what to me the hemlock tree 

That shudders in the wintry air ? 

Steel skies above — a piercing blast 
That shrieks of death on polar plains; 

Love stands with stiffening hands aghast, 
Remembering his own domains. 

It is the country of my youth, 

It is the land I longed to see; 
These mountain streams are wells of truth 

And they reflect the change in me ! 



fi Jon 



ING of happy home, my love, 

Of blessed rest for thee and me ! 
The minstrel's eyes were fixed above: 
"I only sing of what I see !" 

Sing of love that lives for years, 
Of faithful love, before you go ! 

The minstrel's eyes were filled with tears: 
'I only sing of what I know !" 



On J&rata ynez. 



iff CY springs assuage us not; 

Thirst of wilder streams assaults us. 
Banished from this lovely spot, 
Is the whirl of Elfin waltzes ! 



Since strange feet have stirred these waters 
Lead the way to wilder woods. 

Break through manzanita barriers, 
Into untouched solitudes. 

Hither comes no scheming mortal, 

To profane the sylvan dawn ; 
Rivers run in wilful currents, 
Opalescent bars upon. 

Tiny hoofs of wandering satyr 

Crush the beds of dewy fern; 
Hush ! amid the fairy clatter, 

Pipe of Pan I may discern. 

Here the timid fawn may mirror 

In the pool his limpid eyes; 
Jeweled trout unknown of anglers, 

Up through twinkling ripples rise. 



ON SANTA YNEZ. 13 

Tiger lilies nod a welcome 

To the wood-birds and the elves; 
Larkspurs show us where the wanton 

Purple berries hide themselves. 

And the slender, sweet quiote, 

Stands, a mountain maiden queen; 
While above her floats her lover, 

Humming bird, in gold and green. 

Night draws near, a tender shadow, 

Lit by myriad starry eyes; 
While I drink, the sole beholder, 

Bare delights of midnight skies. 

And my camp-fire, only, lonely, 

Sending up its single light, 
Shall not shame the savage silence 

On the dusky lips of night. 

Lark and linnet, follow, follow ! 

Carpintero, follow me ! 
Tufted quail, from hill and hollow, 

Follow, follow, where I flee. 

Grey doves sing — We know it, know it ! 

Humming-bird — We know it well ; 
You're no hunter, but a poet, 

Come among your kin to dwell. 



14r ON SANTA YNEZ. 

Elfin comrades, fleet and fleeter, 
Be your airy figures whirled; 

If the world were sweet, were sweeter, 
I would ne'er forsake the world. 



IP^HE best of my garden I give to you. 



" Perfume, and color and songs; 
That gay little red-headed linnet 
To him who will listen belongs. 

I, walking daily and sadly, 

In blooming dream gardens divine. 

Lament for the merciless limits 

Which compass this garden of mine. 

You see but the flower as it opened, 
And not as I willed it to be; 

When I think of that possible glory 
The gold rose is ruined for me. 

Red lilies may flaunt their bold petals, 
And passion-flowers swing overhead: 

But you have the best of my garden 
Who knew not the rose that is dead. 



^\ l^epmih^ GoBela^ior^. 



] SOMETIMES fancy that I grieve 

vk 



For human lives about me; 
Though well I know the world can weave 
Her complex web without me. 

Then, from my visionary height, 

I turn to daily labor; 
To help the poor and speed the right, 

And try to love my neighbor. 

But human hearts are weak and vain, 

And human griefs appalling; 
The city's streets are paved with pain. 

Then, happier wilds recalling, 

I think how hidden canons track 
The heart of mystic mountains; 

Where summer burns the berries black 
And winter fills the fountains; 

How gold untended blossoms tinge 
The drooping boughs above them 

Of oak and sycamore, that fringe 
The streams, they know I Love the in ! 



16 a heemit's conclusions. 

They know I never left my height 
Of happy dreams and fancies, 

For pleasure in the world's delight 
Or faith in Mammon's chances. 

Descending to the plains beneath 
From tranquil heights, I only 

Discover lives more sad than death, 
Immeasurably more lonely. 

Back to my mountains let me fly, 
Before the world can chill me; 

The golden summer marches by, 
With fresh content to fill me; 

Across my path the squirrels run, 
The quail is whistling to me; 

The little dove's lament is done, 
And life is thrilling through me. 

And if grim hunger bars the way 
With wicked eyes of beryl, 

I'll eat the little dove to-day, 
To-morrow trap the squirrel. 

To bodily needs they minister, 
To life and death I treat them; 

What help were human creatures here? 
I could not even eat them ! 



\e J)elav/ape ( 



ffi^ HESE springs in rocky mountains rise 

And down through sunny valleys Aoav; 
And over them the linnet flies, 

And by their beds wild roses grow. 
But streams to lure the wandering child, 

Whose sounds to me still dearest are, 
In hemlock forests hide — the wild 

Head waters of the Delaware. 



These chaparral glooms are veiled with blooms 

Where morning glories clamber up; 
And, clothed with sleep's divine perfumes, 

The poppy swings her painted cup. 
The white Qttiote's breath is sweet, 

But not so subtly sweet as are 
The violets, whose slender feet 

Are kissed by the infant Delaware. 

I have not missed the charm of power, 
The world has been benign to me; 

But Fate or Fame will not restore 
Life's morning sun to gild this sea. 



18 THE DELAWARE, 

Now all the dreams of youth are dead, 
And streams of youth forever are 

To wider, wilder waters led — 
As to the sea the Delaware. 

river wide, while yet I ride, 
Beholding both thy blooming shores; 

Ere Time shall sweep me to the deep 

Or break with storms my slender oars; 
Give me this grace — -once more to trace 

The little woodland brooks that are 
No kin to these insatiate seas, 

Dear children of the Delaware. 
Their merry rippling waters sing, 

And slide beneath the whispering beech; 
The autumn scented breezes fling 

Sweet scarlet love-notes down to each ; 
Or summer, proud and tender queen, 

Smiles through the swaying boughs that are 
The maple's arms, with palms of green, 

Held up to bless the Delaware. 
Or when the haggard hemlock thrills 

With sweetest tones of spring delight; 
As icy winter quits the hills, 

And vanishes in northern night, 

1 long to see this dauntless tree 
Whose delicate tipped branches are 

Alive in spring with robins' glee, 
That twitter down the Delaware. 



THE DEL A WAKE. 19 



To warmer skies the robin flies 

When all the summer winds are gone: 
The beech, the birch, the maple dies, 

The haggard hemlock stands alone ! 
O hemlock tree, wait yet for me; 

Returning soon from lands afar, 
Thy gaunt and faithful boughs may be 

My grave-mark by the Delaware. 



One kife. 



f serious childhood; a religious youth; 
High aims, indefinite, checked with real tears; 
A womanhood of tedious household cares 
And petty wars witli human savages; 
In later years, 



Enslaved by whirling Powers of the Press, 

My tale of bricks I bring, which as of old 
Are gathered where no straw is, day by day, 
Piled into palaces for ungrateful kings. 
The story's told ! 



j3t ¥1^0 Fair*. 



(^[/MONG the products of the soil, 
^^^ The fruit of free and honest toil, 

Saint Barbara's wheat and wine and oil, 

What shall the landless poet bring, 
Who has but heaps of heathen spoil 
For harvesting? 



The artist's dream of woodland grace 
Or memory of a lovely face ; 
The maiden's web of filmy lace. 

The housewife's skill, the mysteries 
Of modern art, are all in place 
And safe to please. 



The flower and fruit of every zone 
St. Barbara welcomes as her own. 
And her enthusiast sons have shown 

A courage in them lurk, 
For greater victories to be won 
Through honest work. 



AT THE FAIR. 21 

But we, who have no tenancies 

In golden grain or olive trees; 

No house nor land; instead of these, 

In airy towers of fairy gold, 
We weave but phantom tapestries 
Against the cold. 

O then, while farmers bring the spoil 

They gather from a fertile soil, 

St. Barbara's wheat and wine and oil ; 

A landless poet can but bring 
A simple rhyme, not worth the toil 
Of harvesting ! 



Po^amood 



iJ^O you look with regret back to youth and its lilies ! 

Oh ! friend, though the lily be pure and a queen, 
Her petals are scentless and pale, and there still is 
The rose of the world your gold ringlets between. 

Let the laborer tread the grape clusters, expressing 
Prom purple of fruit the dark blood of the vine; 
While you and I drink to bold Time with a blessing, 
Who strengthens and sweetens our hearts and our wine 



y^loaohaio Wirce, 



p^O-DAY I drink my wine in peace, 
Nor covet care nor plenty; 
Though every year the hopes decrease 
That lit my life at twenty I 

Fill np my cup with rippling gold ! 

While vineyards crown our valleys, 
No Barbareno needs be cold 

Nor scant his simple chalice. 

As with the wine, the amber streams 

Of lavish memory glisten; 
Content, alone, to tender dreams 

Of happier days I listen. 

Of him who sought me in my youth, 

A careless minstrel only; 
Who brought me home and taught me truth, 

And dying left me lonely; 

Of children's lips, with laughter red, 
Then white in death's derision; 

Each curl upon each golden head 
Still glitters in my vision ! 



MOUNTAIN WINE. 23 



Of mirthful years that flew and flew, 
With lands and gold made precious; 

Of merry friends that flitted too. 
When fortune grew ungracious, 

I've tasted what the world can give, 
Of love and gold and glory; 

Now all these gift are gone, I live, 
And like some fairy story, 

Seem gift and gain and loss and pain, 
Which in the fire before me, 

Obtrude their lessons o'er again, — 
Yet why should I deplore me ? 

Nay — though this quiet hearth of mine 
By myriad ghosts is haunted ; 

I drink in golden mountain wine, 
Their ghostly healths,— undaunted ! 



W WAKEN, O poet, for morning- 
Is up, and thy labor begun ; 
Transmute into tangible metal 
Sea silver and gold of the sun. 



Clftep £>e&t\i. 



HEN I shake off these earthly chains 

Which now in prison bind me, 
Unless some mightier will constrains, 

I will not look behind me 
To the snn of the world, or the sea thereof, 
Earthly power or earthly love. 



Whatever be my spirit's fate, 
Absorbed — annihilated — 

With endless torments desolate- 
With endless glory sated — 

Whatever be my final birth, 

I am content, — it is not earth ! 



I've seen so much too much of sin, 
So much too much of sighing, 

So much too much of fruitless pain, — 
O the bonds I break in dying 

Are broken wholly ! I shall not sink 

Again to the earth by a single link. 



AFTEK DEATH. 25 



Though sometimes, smiling in your dream, 

A mystic presence lingers; 
And on your aching brows you seem 

To feel magnetic fingers; 

that way madness lies ! No sign 
Will ever come from soul of mine. 

You too must die as I am dead; 

Must pass the fatal portal 
To know how flitting souls are sped, 

If mortal or immortal. 

1 surely shall not turn to tell 
The secret ways of heaven or hell. 

Then reach no more bewildered hands 

To dim delirious fancies; 
No breath of undiscovered lands 

Hhall vivify your trances; 
No power, how monstrous, can constrain 
A free soul back to the earth again. 



USTICE to one who is stung by no doubt of me ! 
Fate has not flung mo her torments in vain; 
Since out from her thorns grows a flower, a mystery, 
Rose of all roses, the blossom of pain. 



.gar^rapt. 



HAD a garden, fair and fine 

With blood-red rose and lily; 
Palm and pine and passion vine 
And nodding- daffodilly; 

With lemons in perpetual bloom, 

The daintily fruiting guava; 
Dark velvet pansies' faint perfume, 

The royal plum of Java; 

Vines running wild, — yet grapes they bear. 

In tints would tempt a Titian, 
Rose-of-Peru, Muscat, St. Pierre, 

Catawba, Tokay, Mission; 

A little bed of violets, 

A miniature forest, 
Ah ! fair retreat when trouble frets ! 

But now, my need being sorest, 

I kneel beneath your sheltering boughs, 
The last, the last, the last time ! 

Soft sea- winds kiss my burning brows 
And tear-stained cheeks for pastime. 



BANKRUPT, 27 



Egyptian lilies line the lane, 

The heliotrope is fragrant 
With blessed comfort for the pain 

Of an unhappy vagrant. 

Adieu ! I will no longer grieve ; 

Since God is just, to-morrow 
He who has won shall likewise leave 

These garden walks in sorrow ! 

My white rose will not bloom for him, 

My poppies pale to know it; 
O heavenly powers ! what paint can limn 

The man who wronged a poet ? 



OTNDAUNTED and unmoved 
I watch the wheels of Fate. 
Twas so little that I loved 
It is little that I hate. ' 

Now free and ureproved, 
I smile in spite; of fate. 

I!.' never can have loved 
Who has never known to hate 



J)ar2eir2^ (ipiolet^. 

ff HAKE the silver fringe of Folly's bells, 
1 Dance, undaunted, to the magic chime. 
Dance, as erst the Fauns in Grecian dells. 
Shake the silver fringe of Folly's bells, 
List the tale of love that laughter tells, 

Webs to trip the wary feet of Time. 
Shake the silver fringe of Folly's bells, 

Dance, undaunted, to the magic chime. 

Wait for age to teach thee melancholy, 

Foot it lightly in thy gallant prime. 
In thy youth be frolicsome and jolly, 
Wait for age to teach thee melancholy, 
Bind about thy feet the bells of Folly, 

Joyously they swing to rhythm and rhyme. 
Wait for age to teach thee melancholy, 
Foot it lightly in thy gallant prime. 

Here the youthful player stands, annointed 

King of the soul-searching violin. 
From his bow black demons fly, arointed ! 
Here the youthful player stands, annointed; 



DANCING TKIOIiETS. 29 

By Apollo's benison appointed 

Dancing feet to revelry to win. 
Here the youthful player stands, annointed 

King of the soul-searching violin. 



Where's the foolish working world? Forget it, 
Dance, and jingle Folly's silver chime. 

Fast departs the golden day, — O let it ! 

Where's the foolish working world? Forget it. 

Here I take the merry dance, and set it, 
In the mad mosaic of my rhyme. 

Where's the foolish working world ? Forget it, 
Dance, and jingle Folly's silver chime ! 



f T is not your mountains or magical chain 

Of islands dim purple, or even the sea. 
With gay racing billows by day, and by night 
His monotone chant to uncomforted souls. 
Not these; but the spirit of these, but the breath, 
The reviving, the incomprehensible air. 
That wo float in, and live in, and Love till wo (bo. 



e&ppiecio^o. 



RHYMING devil haunts me, 
{ J' Born of a scattered brain. 

His castle of castles bold behold, 
Founded on air and fashioned of gold, 

Songs of the syrens and blood of the slain, 

Awaken ! The night with a fnry 
Of winds the battlements shake; 

And regiments stand on either hand, 

Only awaiting a chief's command, 
Into the walls to break. 

But the devil lowers the drawbridge, 

And offers the troopers wine; 
Down martial throats it gurgling goes, 
And the devil returns to his repose, 

This wary devil of mine. 

Up in a turreted chamber, 

I wait when the morning dawns; 

From the phantom bars of my aery prison 

I see auroral worlds new risen, 
And dew on the velvet lawns. 



CAPRICCIOSO. 31 

Back to the past I wander, 

Kneeling by sparkling floods; 
Free as the air I joyously sing, 
And the rush and the glitter of youth and of Spring 

Brightens the hemlocks buds. 

Down comes the tempest howling, 

Down the clattering rain ! 
Tower and turret rock and reel, 
The lightning breaks on bars of steel, 

— And the devil awakes a^ain ! 



j F friendship blossomed every day 

I well might take your hands, and say 
"I wish you well, dear friend, away/' 
But, simple flower though it be. 
It seldom bursts a bud for me. 

With roses white and roses red 
My garden still is tenanted; 
But if the flower I love be dead, 

What matters all the perfumed crew? 

I miss them all in missing yon? 



^rMtf^ema 



the traveler who goes 
Spying all our wants and woes, 
Cursing every wind that blows 

Through the land; 
Naught have sapphire sea and islands 
Emerald or amber highlands, 
Winter storms or summer silence, 

Night or day, 

Naught to say 
That he can understand. 

Wind, O sea-wind, bring him rain ! 
Wind, O land-wind, turn again, 
Fling across the desert plain 

Storms of sand ! 
Fog, O mighty fog, brood over 
Land and sea ! Let him discover 
Nothing sweet or light ! Thy lover 

Knowing thee, 

Waits patiently. 
We wait, and understand. 



<§j° a Jv/eet Jio^ep. 

^WEET as your song may be, 

Tenderly smooth and complete, 

Khymed and measured so daintily; 

Do you find the world so sweet ? 

You dream your delicate dreams 

Of innocent, pale delight; 
Stringing your lilacs by languid streams 

Where violets blossom white; 

And travelers stop to hear 

The sound of your murmuring: 

They rest by the river so pure and clear, 
And bless you while you sing. 

None will listen to me, 

None respond to my cry, 
Though the soul of the song I sing should h 

As a lark in a stormy sky. 

For I sing, as I love, the truth ! 

Bitter and wild shall it be: 
Not rippling over the lips of youth 

In ;i delicate melody; 



34 TO A SAVEET SINGER. 

But rather a wind that raves 
Over a shuddering world ; 

A red and tattered banner that waves 
In a desperate war unfurled. 

Why, O true love of old, 

Is my song then incomplete ? 

"Night may be black and Death be cold, 
But a woman should be sweet !" 



"koVe ¥00 trader 3 ." 

fciOVE too tender — Love at his ease, 
How can a strong heart value these V 

"Heart too rugged — O heart most true, 
May not a lover kneel to you?" 

"Kneel not ! Who would my true love be 
Must be no less than level with me." 

"Heart too stainless and high, adieu ! 
Love is too little for such as you." 

"As bold as the world is, as wild as the sea, 
Such love shall be — or nothing to me." 



¥l2&r2^ivii2^ 



^O-DAY I keep my holiday 

For all the careless world can say; 
Had refrains I lay away, 
To keep my happy holiday. 

How can I keep my holiday? 
Thrice-blessed one, kneel down and pray ! 
Give thanks and render praise alway 
For gifts that grace thy holiday. 

Thanks — for a fortune fled, 

It is so much less to leave ; 
Thanks — for the friends long dead 

It is so many less to grieve. 

Thanks — for physical pain, 

It brings me courage to die ; 
Fools may cry and complain, 

So much the wiser I. 

The triple gift I do not scorn; 
And on this fair Thanksgiving morn, 
I kneel with happy heart to pray 
For all mankind a holiday. 



poetic p^am^m. 

pjj/WAY with your modern theologies, 
""^^ Bitter and tasteless and cold; 

Give me the gods and the goddesses 
Worshipped of old ! 

Here might the white Aphrodite 

Arise from the sea, debonnaire, 
With gay leaves and gray leaves engarlanded. 
Wringing her hair; 

Here might the Msenad dance under 

Vine trellises, pausing to taste 
With wine-reddened lips the wine rivers, 
Now running to waste ; 

To join her, now down from the mountain 

Comes flying the fleet-footed faun ; 
The Dyrad slips into oak shadows 
At breaking of dawn; 

And here drives the radiant Apollo, 

With wild fretted steeds all afoam; 
He shakes his gold hair as he frowns at 
The laurel in bloom; 



POETIC PAGANISM. 

Here jolly old Neptune carouses 
In mid-channel, here in the lee 
Of bold rocky cliffs sing the Sirens 
To sailors at sea; 

And the wise gray-eyed Pallas Athene 

Descends upon earth once again, 
Bearing wisdom — and surely they need it — 
To councils of men. 

Pan died; — but his ghost has appeared to me 

Piping by mountain streams, sweet ! 
The Satyrs kept time to his music 
With clattering feet. 

Pan died;— from Olympus down driven, 

Where could the fair goddesses flee, 
If not to the loveliest valley, 
The sunniest sea ? 

Take hands then, Melpomene, Thalia, 

Bow to an audience new ! 
The reddest red rose in my garden 
Is sacred to you. 

Is sacred to you, though the churches 

The facts of your godhead refuse; 
Objecting alike to the manner** 
Of Msunsid and Muse. 



37 



38 POETIC PAGANISM. 

Yet as sacred fire died on Greek altars, 

Bo die down the flames, one by one, 
Of all ancient or modern religions; 
All gods are undone, 

And made powerless, sooner or later; 
As you fell, the churches will fall; 
As man dies the gods die ! Faith changes, 
Time vanquishes all. 



G^r^tma^ Lewie 



J\EINK to me, dearest! The name I pledge, 
As I kiss the goblet's gleaming edge, 

Is thine, is only thine! 
Emerald cups to the board I bring, 
With lily buds engarlanding, 

Engraven with mystic sign. 

I drink to thee, dearest! In this wild cup. 
Fathomless sparkles come bubbling up, 

And my wits go wandering. 
I see a wraith in the empty chair, 
And could almost swear your soul was there, 

To laugh at the songs I sing! 



UBdeptOE^. 



(pj[[T your garden gate I pause, 
^ Thinking ! Surely peace reposes 
Under those enchanting walls, 

Green with vines and gay with roses. 

Every sea- wind wandering up, 
Thrills with perfume, as it passes 

Over waves of mignonette, 
Heliotrope in purple masses. 

In sweet shadows while you walk 
Wrapped about with golden silence; 

Sunshine paints your lilies white, 
Paints with blue the distant islands. 

Yes, — the heliotrope is sweet, 
If the heart be^sweet to feel it ; 

If heaven be not in the heart, 
Can a passion-flower reveal it? 

Of the flower and of the fruit, 
If content be not the warden; 

He who has a merry heart 
Need not envy yon your garden, 



^mr^eeha 



! BLESS the mystical perfume, 

The sacred juice of Orient bloom. 
Drink — and the whole cold world is warm; 
Drink — and thou shalt forget the storm 

That sweeps the deeps of passion's sea; 
O wine of wide eternity. 



Within this sculptured chalice beats 

Of Death's content the soul and SAveets. 
Now farewell Fate and farewell Fame; 
Adieu, O dearer deathless name; 

Naught stirs the soul that sinks to thee, 

That melts into eternity. 



I bless the land that gave thee birth, 

O vision-blossom of the earth ! 
I bless the silent slaves that sow, 
The Indian heats that bid thee grow, 

The streams that bear thee to the sea, 

O flower of fair eternity ! 



AMKEETA. 4) 



For one the rose, for one the vine. 

For one heroic bays, — but mine, 
The poppy garland's gracious gift, 
As down to dreamless seas I drift. 

Beyond the dream to dreamless peace. 

Nirvana's near eternities. 



CI J>ad Pay. 



HOPELESS day has died a hopeless death; 

And nothing left of prayers or tears undone. 
To Heaven I cried, with vain beseeching breath. 

And Heaven denied me even the setting sun. 

For this day died not as all others die, 
With gold and purple glory garmented; 

At noon black raiment overspread the sky, 
And day was cold, ere ever she was dead. 

With bloodless hands upon a soulless breast, 
When I shall lie, untouched by love or pain; 

It will not charm nor change me, though the west 
Be clad in gold or cowled in gloom again. 

1 only asked one day this day no more, 
What comes beyond I dared to trust untried. 

And lo ! — the day is dead, was dead before 
I knew how milch to me her death implied ! 



jymplzocy. 



IN the wild exaltation of music, 

Transfixed by the glory of sound; 

In the midmost deep ocean of rapture. 

My heart is in harmonies drowned. 

But over the sea, from the limits 
Of light, come tumultuous cries; 

"O pity me, pray for me, help me, 
From dust to awake and arise !" 

The wild music flutters and falters, 
The singers grow pale and are still ; 

The stars are unseen and forgotten, 
The night wind is heavy and chill. 

And over the water at midnight 

Is ringing a mystical bell; 
It strikes on my heart without ceasing, 

A strange uninterpreted knell. 

What voice is in distance ? What anguish 

Appeals to my senses, I cry; 
But the bell, tolling tangible terrors, 

But mutters and mocks in reply. 



SYMPHONY, 48 

I wait for tlie morning — I listen 

For sounds from the shore and the sea; 
The gray gulls in troops flying inland 

Forerunners of tempest must be. 

I know it ! I feel it ! I fear it ! 

Yet in God's good sunlight I stand, 
And the sphinx who could answer my questions 

Lies low — with her face in the sand ! 



(^cl^e^Itzia Califopmea. 

THE rose garden, the garden 

Of roses, of roses alone. 
Fair is it, rare is it, yet in my garden 

A daintier blossom has blown; 
A flower of the South and the Sun, 

Sown upon limitless plains; 
Fed by the death of the summer grasses, 

Watered by winter rains. 
When the wild spring streams are running. 

She raises her head, and cries, 
"Blow off my emerald cap, good wind, 

And the yellow hair out of my eyes !" 
And a fair, fine lady she stands, 

And nods to the dancing sea,: 
O the rose you have trained is a lovely slave 

But the wild gold poppy is free ! 



I°° Leab. 



t^AS the trampled slave arisen. 
Liberal, forbearing, free; 
Out of hateful chains and prison 
Freshly born to liberty? 



Can he, with sweet freedom gifted 

Rise at once to pure delight, 
Into sudden sunshine lifted, 
Out of night ? 



Cruel wounds that festered under 

Iron links, can he forget? 
Though the chain be torn asunder, 

Memory feels its thraldom yet. 

Years of black despair have taught him 

Savage hates that cannot cease. 
Sudden sunshine has not brought him 
Sudden peace! 



UiQdep tl^e /Aoant&ir^. 



! HE sycamore's emerald palms to me 
Are shadowy figures that flee and fade. 

And beckon me up from the sun-burnt sea 
To a silent canon's dreamy shade; 

For the hills are green, and the heights arise 

Over the level of weary eyes. 



Here is the delicate pink wild rose, 
And purple flowers whose petals fly 

From the careless hand, — and faintly blow 
The sweet wind under the shining sky, 

Flying up from the far-off sea, — 

And wild birds sing to the wilds in me. 



The squirrel looks out of his burrow, with eye* 
Cunningly turned askance, ami over 

The grass before us the road-runner flics. 
And the tufted quail from his cover of clover 

Whistles as clear as he can, and shrill 

Answers his mate from her nest on the hill 



16 UNDE-R THE MOUNTAIN'S. 

What if it might be all forever — 
That we in the blessing of forest palms, 

Through endless cations might ride, and never 
Pass from this plenty of golden calms 

To the raging city — the torrid plain — 

Or the fitful lights of a savage main ! 

Is this a time to be torn with fears, 
Or worn with doubts of a future fate — 

To mourn the ashes of wasted years, 
Or the drifting lives left desolate— 

While the hills are green, and the heights arise 

Over the level of weary eyes? 



%^#MTE tenderly, you tell me, dear, 
■^ Let bitter memories sleep; 

No false-mouthed friend need know or hear 
Of midnight watch you keep. 



I know it ! Even you, O one 

More honest than the rest; 
Would fain behold the weeping done; 

You love a laugh the best ! 



J3 Jea D^eam. 



Yf^O-DAY the ocean softly smiles, 

And floats my dreams to Indian isles. 



Temptations draw them south and west 
To regions of unbounded rest. 

Though sweet of sweetest, you may say 
Were love and roses yesterday — 

The past is done — the future dim , 

By headlands bold, Hope's darlings swim; 

It may be wreck, it may be peace, 
They win beyond unsounded seas; 

Life's clinging weeds may catch their oars> 
And hold them off from golden shoves; 

Death's dripping weeds may drag them down, 
In sight of dreamed lands to drown ! 

But seas are sweet and still to-day, 
About my boat green ripples play, 



4<S A SEA DEE AM. 

As, lured by Love's last avatar, 
I boldly steer from beach and bar, 

To unknown waters, wide and blue, 
O, gift of God, I follow you ! 



^dV^ity. 



if WAS born a butterfly, 
^ To live beneath a cloudless sky; 
To dream among enchanted trees, 
With happy leaves and birds and bees. 

When from south the rain winds blow, 
And in each gorge wild torrents flow; 
I crouch beneath denuded boughs, 
And curse the wind that swept my house. 

Storms may cleanse and Are refine 
The golden metal of the mine; 
The storm that ruins — fire that brings 
Destruction unto golden wings! 

Sweet, O prophet, sweet may be 
The uses of adversity 
To tempered souls like yours; but I, 
I was born a butterfly! 



^efope tt^e JhOPlTi. 

^ACES cover the grey of heaven, 

Crowd this colorless curve of sea; 
Over the whole broad earth are driven 
Shapes to terrify me. 

These are the souls of men, I know; 

In every One I feel 
The presence of crime or care or woe 

That each would fain conceal. 

Ami yet — if the winter's olden grace 

Were here, and the sea were blue; 
And the gracious sun unveiled his face, 

Some souls might be born anew. 

Some faces then might smile in the light, 

Some burdens sinl< in the sea; 
And the cowardly visipns that come in the night 

Vanish away from me! 



A.FTER I'll K STORM. 

Morning and sunshine are out on the sea, 
But when I ride under (lie sycamore I ree 



50 AFTER THE STOEM. 

On me and my grief lie drops a leaf, 
Recalling with falling of desolate leaf, 
The shadow of grief. 

sycamore, give me my morning again! 

The storm that drove earthward with banners of rain 
Has passed, — mocking me with the peace of the sei 
Behold, the old gladness comes back to the sea. 
Why not also to me ? 



f^ed £ilie$. 



"TRIKE fuller chords, or let the music rest! 



Of tender songs the world has yet no dearth. 
Which scarce survive the moment of their birth 
Be thine in passionate cadences expressed. 

And banish morning glories from thy breast! 
A purple dream flower of the woods is worth 
So little in the gardens of the earth; 
If gift thou givest, give what we love best! 

Since life is wild with tears and red with wrongs, 
Let these red lilies typify thy songs, 
If with full fame thou would'stbe comforted. 

Since lite is red with wrongs and wild with tears, 
O move us, haunt us, kill our souls with fears. 
And we will praise thee, — after thou art dead! 



^presentiment. 



| x #HEN, lingering late on the mountain, 
1 The rosy last light of the'day 
Lies tenderly, while all the valley 

In twilight is chilly and grey; 
I think of your life, as it seems to me, 

Flushed with love's colors divine; 
And sadden, remembering the darkness 

That long ago fell upon mine. 

I stand, truly, down in the shadows; 

Yet see — how they creep ! how they rise ! 
As night comes to cover the mountains, 

So trouble shall come to your eyes ! 
But with darkness or sorrow encompassed, 

Mountain and valley and sea 
Are still in their places, and you are 

No nearer, no nearer to me. 

There is nothing I ask of you, nothing ! 

When sea winds conic up from the south ; 
Blow up and blow over us, turning 

To whitethe warm red of your mouth; 



PKESEISfTIMENT. 

And white wings beat inland in horror,. 

And white seas fly up on the sand, 
You will shrink from the pallid forerunners 

Of Fate, — but will not understand ! 

Your quiet grey eyes in the gloaming 

Shall some time see clearly, — yet pass r 
For the night is to come, and the tender 

Pale color is yet on the grass. 
Not yet over sea-way and highway 

Has Fate driven you. Let us wait, 
Lest shudder of knowledge should hasten 

The fast-flying footsteps of Fate. 

Still feel the dear day in its glory, 

And live, while life clings to your side: 
Look out on the lovely blue water 

Nor think of the turn of the tide; 
Of the night that comes surely, ah, surely, 

With storm birds blown in from the sea: 
But rest, still content and beloved, 

Unmindful of storms and of me ! 



JftATH sleeps and is quiet, Death lieth so still. 
With the grey shadow veiling the face. 
When the soul lias flown out with a desperate thrill 
And the body encumbers its place. 



$ 



eopoiQado geac^ \n 1870. 

I STEONG wind sweej)s the ancient town. 
Her leveled walls, her quivering palms. 
Her plaza, wide and bare and brown, 

Across the land locked harbor's calms. 
From merry seas that whitely si. me 
Where Ocean's plunging ranks align. 

And gaily beats against the breeze, 

And veers, and turns, and tacks, and dip 

Our little bark, with pretty ease, 

By walls and wharf and anchored ships: 

Some mocking Ariel seems to hold 

Her back from yonder bar of gold. 

But gaily still she turns and flies. 

My love, the world is ours to day: 
Above us rest the luminous skies— 

Beneath us bound the wavelets gay — 
Beyond us in wide 1 spaces free 

To meet us springs the joyful sea! 

At last we reach the strip of sand 

Dividing bay from sea, and borne 
Through tinted shelving shallows, land. 



54 COEONADO BEACH IN 1870. 

Our boat awaiting the return, 
Swings idly on her anchor-chain, 
While we. across the barren plain, 

Walk ankle deep in sandy drifts. 

Where with rare crystals jeweled o'er, 

Her scarlet face the ice-plant lifts, 
Sole blossom of this sterile shore : 

An eerie flower she is, to be 

The darling of this southern sea. 

What treasures crowd the sands to-day, 
By savage billows flung to us; 

Red sea-leaves, sea-shells pearly grey, 
And the pretty purple nautilus; 

The big wave loves to play with him, 

This little sailor quaint and trim. 

Poor waif from unknown distances, 
The storms that drove you rage no more; 

Lie quietly, while roll the seas 
In surging dactyls to the shore — 

As wandering souls that have been driven 

By earthly storms to coasts of heaven. 

And lingering here, with doubt and dream 
Of life that might be, life that is; 

We, like these purple sailors, seem 
Upon the golden breadth of peace 

Left stranded. — ah! but heart by heart, 

No more to drift — no more to part. 



jWenee, 



Jg|lNE it is, when winds are blowing 
Straight from an insatiate sea, 
To accept and praise them, knowing 

Naught can bar their savagery; 
Praise the life that lies the nearest, 
Who can know 'tis not the dearest ? 

One may weave most subtle fancies 
From dark threads of pain and power 

Fashion gay and wild romances 
In desjoair's most gloomy hour; 

Sing of hope and happy dreams 

In the roar of raging streams. 

Wind that truly warms and blesses 
Needs no help of rhythm or rhyme; 

Since her full and free caresses 
Satisfy the summer time. 

In the happy day no space is 

To be filled with barren praises. 

Dove now (-idling, cooing, calling, 
With a melancholy thrill; 



56 



From your feet the dead leaves falling 

Strike my hair and brows at will. 
Do yon wonder why I only 
Linger, — still, content and lonely? 

Ah, to-day the woodlands love me, 

And to-day I have a right 
To be silent ! Dove above me 

Spread your wings in fairy flight; 

Let me dream that time is bringing 
Dearer days, too sweet for singing ! 



jucee^. 



I 1 TOO have learned the secret of success! 

The wild flower's purple petals scattered lie: 

In human hands her delicate odors die, 
Though touched with love's extremest tenderness. 
Yet see the red rose on my lady's dress, 

Serene, where whirling laughing dancers fly; 

Or bound on boAvls of midnight revelry, 
Trained, tortured, cultured into lastingness. 
Leave then the hidden stream, O heart of mine, 
Since he who drinks the city's turbid wine, 

Shall gain thereby new forces to resist. 
() cultivate tin 1 double rose of fame! 
If once the world be conscious of your name. 

Humility's wild flower will not be missed. 



Gapmelita, 



/pAEMELITA'S perfumed curl 

^^^ In the maddening waltz's whirl 
Swings across Felipe's mouth; 
What new beauty seeketh he 
Who beneath her lids may see 
Sleepy midnights of the South ? 



Carmelita kneels, arrayed 
In her triple crown of braid, 

With a rapt and saintly air ; 
Yet she does not fail to hold 
Her black mantle's broidered fold 

Daintily, with certain care. 



Carmelita's glances rise 
To Felipe's earnest eyes; 

Turns he yet, untouched — heart whole? 
With a cheek of tinted cream, 
With the figure of a dream, 

Carmelita lacks — a soul ! 



CI (ioLir^t, 



AT THE OLD MISSION, SANTA BARBARA. 

fe\E was a stranger in the land; 

(to) The Padre took him by the hand. 

He showed with pride the whitened towers, 
The bells that swing to mark the hours, 
The skulls above the arched gate 
With dust of years disconsolate, 
The Mission garden, planted when 
The Church was rich in serving men; 
Then gravely asked, "And who are you 
Who come our fallen state to view?" 

The stranger straightened consciously: 
"I am from Boston !" "Boston? Why, 

You speak the English language, friend, 

So well we all can comprehend 
Your meaning ! Yes, there have been men 
From Boston here before you, when 

We could not understand a word 

Of all they said !" The tourist heard 
And downward from the Mission went, 
Contempt lost in astonishment. 



A TOUEIST. 59 



111 sandaled feet, with figure gowned 
In coarse gray cloth, and rudely bound 
About the waist with ropes, I knew 
A marvel he must seem to you. 
His life's as dusty as his gown ; 
Unknown beyond his native town. 
But more than yours is his surprise, 
To see the curious pride that lies 
In one poor modern city's fame, 
Which none of his old volumes name ! 



Octobers 



l|^HE Indian summer's happy haze 

Made smooth old Shawangunk's sternest frown; 
And scarlet maple leaves flew down 
To light the earth a little space. 
By rustic walls the ferns were brown; 
And robins sang their roundelays 
Beyond our steel-blue shivering bays, 
To softer airs pf Southland flown. 
The beech's golden guidons streamed 
Above ns, as we rode, aware 
Of dead leaf odors, scents that seemed 
Too sweet for meadows blowing bare. 
Asleep by purpling vines, I dreamed, 
That once again we wandered there 



Omera^. 



ifefc.APPY omens swarm to-day 
'"@) With this golden weather; 
Birds fly near, and daisies say, 
Many and many and many a day 
Life shall live, and love shall stay, 
Love shall sing, and life be gay, 
And we two ride together ! 

Down between these fluttering trees, 

Shall we ride forever? 
While from south delicious seas, 
Many and many and many a breeze 
Sings between the orange trees 
Kinging with passionate melodies 

"O never, never sever !" 

O Love, while omens crowd our ways 

With musical sound and silence ; 
Take the message the wind conveys, 
Fling the messenger flower and praise: 
But look beyond to future days, 
As through this delicate purple haze 
We look on the channel's islands. 



61 



Signs may cease when the day is done 

And airs no more be golden; 
But must we die for a dying sun ? 
O many and many and many a one 
May sink in the sea, — but love begun 
In trust and faith its course shall run 

To the sunshine unbeholden. 

Praise the blessing of God to-day 

Of love and golden weather; 
Sunshine may not always stay, 
But love may sing and life be gay, 
Many and many and many a day 
Till our hearts be dead, and hair be grey, 

Then dead and grey together ! 



,/p"HERE the bold day caught me by the shoulder 
Saying: Woman wise, beware, beware ! 
Crying: Sylphs and undines, who has told her 
The secrets of the water and the air? 

Vet. she shall not, of your gay prolusion. 

Carry miracles to yonder town; 
Sober men will deem it a delusion, 

Silly women meet it with a frown ! 



Qlfma te\\\ef 



(j&>V CYNIC smiles, because I wear 
v ~" v -^ Celestial lilies in my hair. 



The Chinese say the house is doomed 
In which no New Year lily bloomed. 

And so my small celestial friend 
Brings, to avert my sudden end, 

A lily bulb, ordained to flower 
Precisely at the lucky hour. 

Each delicate rootlet curls and swells 
Bound pebbles rare and polished shells ; 

And day by day green leaves unroll 
Above the quaintly painted bowl; 

And swiftly, underneath my eyes 
The slender blossom buds arise, 

Till at the mystic time is born 

This pagan fortune-flower you scorn, 



XTHINA LIMES. 



63 



A wish in blossom ! — Nay; a sign 
That fortune's gifts may yet be mine. 

So, spite of cynic smiles, I wear 
These China lilies in my hair. 



jINES and roses, palms and lilies, 
Make my garden sweet; 
To be sweeter, needing only 
Pressure of your feet. 

Pale the coral woodbine groweth 

Pale the heliotrope, 
When you leave me, doubting, fearing, 

Reft of transient hope. 

Come again, and straightway blooming 

Every rose is red ! 
Every violet lifts, alluring, 

Up her darling head. 

Every golden-hearted lily 
Smiles with meaning sweet; 

Ah, you love me ! Now my garden 
Truly is complete ! 



^ & a y- 



jpff EFOEE me yawns a raging gulf, 
S^ A sleuth-dog bays behind me; 
Beyond the chasm, men are sworn 
With triple chains to bind me. 

If I escape the furious beast, 

Escape the stormy water; 
And fall not into human hands 

Athirst for human slaughter — 

I know not then what meadows sweet, 
"Where rippling rivers glimmer; 

May wait to bless my weary feet, 
Or whether, dim and dimmer, 

An unknown darkness fills the space 
Where nameless terror lingers; 

Or through what baleful fires my face 
Be struck by demon fingers. 

But die I will not ! Here at bay, 
Alone, unarmed, a woman; 

What bitter strait were mine to-day 
If all my foes were human ! 



AT BAY. 65 



I well might face with desperate eyes 

The fiercest tool of nature; 
By courage like his own, surprise 

To truce this savage creature ; 

I well might swim across the bays 

Of night in fearless fashion, 
Though thick black billows beat my face, 

And break in storms of passion — 

If on that shore no enemies 
Of kin and blood were waking, 

Or if — beyond the reach of these — 
Were pleasures worth the taking ! 



Wealth 



\ WELL enough I loved my fleecy laces, 

O well enough I loved my flashing rings ; 
And well I loved the smile upon your faces, 

When you passed me, children, fancying these things 
Were happiness.-^— not noticing the traces 

Of my tears, not remembering how the wings 
Of wealth might spread, to light on distant places, 

And leave me wounded, desolate, 
Without a cup of water 

From the world's unpitying springs. 



j3 /®a Eeaf. 



^L, /^ HY should the burden be always Love ? 

W Q r j-j ie season \y e always Spring ? 
Through passionless aether the answer clove,, 
The mysterious answer: "Behold, this Love 
Is a sad and a wearisome thing ! 

But sad is never the wide salt sea, 

In storm or in gold of repose ; 
And fast though the boats of the fishermen flee 
From tempest and ruin and wreck of the sea, 

The storm wind merrily blows. 

And sweetly the white-winged sea-bird sleeps 

On the buoy that rocks a-lee; 
When the glittering tide in sunshine sweeps, 
Joyously in from dark blue deeps 

To dark green shallows of sea. 

Wild Love, that is sweet in the time of Spring, 

As wildly bitter shall be, 
When the swallows of Spring have taken wing, 
And what, in that bitter awakening, 

Will the sweet dream matter to thee ? 



A SEA LEAP. 67 



The swallow may follow the flight of Spring, 

But Spring shall follow thee ! 
And the earth her shyest streams shall bring 
To the lips of one who dares to sing 

As a daughter of dawn and the sea ! 



^\X2 E&^Iet. 



i 



INGE there are heights you cannot reach, 
Since pinions were denied you; 
Would you the infant eagle teach 

To rest content beside you? 
The wings are grown, the eaglet flown, 
Now walk your gloomy vale alone ! 



Though sometimes down from heights sublime., 

The royal bird comes sailing, 
To poise above you for a time, 

Your hopes are unavailing. 
Upon your breast an hour she'll rest, 
But far above she builds her nest. 



"£r®i^od 



e 



Is 



jjOVE has conie, and gone again; 

We were bound, and we are free. 
Love, beloved of wiser men 
Never waits too long for me. 

This was just the golden hour ! 

Since a shadow of regret — 
Odor of a faded flower — 

Sweetens my resentment yet. 

When it seemed no sin to say, 
"All my love I dare not tell !" 

Could I then foresee this day ? 
While I loved, I loved you well. 

Yet though love's enchanting speech 
Breaks no longer on my mouth, 

All hope's silence shall not teach 
Alien sadness to the south. 

Seas shall sing, though lips be dumb; 

Winters laugh with leaping streams: 
Amber fields of summer come, 

Smiling, spite of haggard dreams. 



69 



I shall find what peace there is ! 

Sweetheart lost, adieu, adieu ! 
Lips of mine you will not miss ; 

Other loves will comfort yon. 



Ji^oal^. 



M 



\OW shall I guess at your coming ? 

Will not your soul send to mine 
A signal, unseen and electric, 

A mute, indisputable sign ? 

It may be a tone in the north wind, 
It may be a rose light above 

The grey granite heights, or an odor 
Of heliotrope, flower of love; 

Or the swinging of wings in a rapture 
Of humming bird life and delight; 

Or mystical meteors sailing 
Together down rivers of night. 

But be it a sound or a color, 

Flower, flutter, or starlight divine; 

Whatever shall herald your coming, 
I must be aware of the sign. 



(©rai^itior^. 



jl«j\AS the night come? Not yet, O my darling. 
X«^ The glory of morning is here; 

Her sunlight transforms us, and lifts us 

High into her holier sphere. 
And Hope, a diviner Aurora, 

Smiles out from her tresses again: 
Let your face catch the brightness, my darling, 
Your brows be forgotten of pain. 

Still morning ? The morning has faded, 

The sun blazes high in the skies; 
The prairies lie brown and unshaded, 

The river burns white on my eyes. 
Can I lead you ! My hand is unsteady, 

Hope left me with morning and youth; 
And on the plain, treeless and torrid, 

I, panting, yet shrink from the truth. 

Is it night ? It is night. In the darkness 
The waves storm a desolate beach ; 

And I feel, though you cling to me, something 
A longing your love does not reach: 



TRANSITIONS. 71 



A hope of some new Aphrodite, 
Unrisen from the ultimate sea; 

To be dearer than dreams of the morning, 
And sweeter than love is to me. 



Cldio^. 



'/r^O as the wind goes, blithely away; 

One flower blossomed and died in a day; 
One voice trembled, — then hushed in sleep, 
One star fell, and was lost in the deep, 

One may be fettered, and one be free; 
And the iron chains encircling me 
Seem naught to you but the ribbon I wear, 
The ring on my finger, the rose in my hair, 

But whether I weep in some sea-blue cave, 
Or sink to sleep in a deeper grave, 
Be fetterless thou forever ! O be 
Unaware of the madness that clings to me. 

And go as the wind goes, blithely away; 
Fear me and fly from me while you may. 
My hopes are as torches blown out by a breath 
To know me is sorrow, — to love me is death ! 



Fo°t^te[®5 on Jarata ynez, 



IRTISH ! This is no mountain's child! 
l@ Ne'er were roses grown so wild, 
So shyly hidden 
From the one who loves them best, 
But only from the transient guest 
Who comes unbidden. 



Fairy feet, O flee from him 
Into forests dark and dim; 

Leave no trilling 
Lark nor linnet ! O be dumb, 
Comrades dear, who used to come, 

Our pulses thrilling. 



Little spring, — O dearest spring, 

Hush, I pray thee ! Cease to sing- 
Till he passes. 

Sweet quiote, do not blow; 

Larkspur, lily, lie down low 
In the grasses. 



FOOTSTEPS ON SANTA YNEK. 73 

Humming-bird, be still I pray, 
Liet no sound your wings betray 

While he lingers; 
Now ! Down comes the dappled herd, 
He is gone — Now, humming-bird, 

Bring the singers ! 



Cecile. 

KNOW every one of your tricks, Cecile, 
The smile, and the downcast eyes; 
The upward eloquent look, the glance, 
The laughter threaded with sighs; 

The folded hands, the averted head, 
The brown cascade on your shoulder; 

The innocent song, that trills and thrills, 
Unconscious of any beholder ! 

You've lovers in plenty to kneel, Cecile, 
While the chains you weave are new; 

But they weary so soon ! When the last is gone 
What Avill become of you ? 

() you've every charm in the world, (Wile. 

But the charm to conquer me ! 
Every grace in the world, Cecile, 

lint tin 1 grace of sincerity. 



IIIa^ioE, J) e \uf\on. 

)[|LLUSION, delusion, whatever you name it, 

The heaven was real to me. 
A starlight in midnight, that lit, could I blame it? 

The manifold spaces of sea; 

And never was conscious of me. 

Here dance the white waves in a rapturous measure, 

And dawn is alive on the height. 
They know not my grief, and they knew not my pleasure, 

In stars that outwitted the night, 

Stars glittering over the height. 

For the sea was the world, and the gold stars above it 

Were lights in the midnight of eyes. 
The blond dawn is fair, — but O how could I love it, 

Who worshiped, with paramount sighs. 

Black brows and electrical eyes ! 

Ah ! — fair youthful morning, — your gay golden tresses, 

Your sweet eyes of heavenly blue ; 
Your tenderest smiles and your dearest caresses 

Give lovers more worthy of you, 

Who love the dawn's delicate blue ! 



ILLUSION, DELUSION. 75 

But I stand at bay ! Though the world may proclaim it 

Aloud, in derision of me; 
Illusion, delusion, whatever you name it, 

I loved a wild light on the sea, 

That never was conscious of me. 



^tla$. 



IH^IGHT ! And the great sea seems to beat, 
Moaning and thundering, under my feet; 
And the stars hang low, like oranges, 
Borne upon heaven's invisible trees. 



Night ! And an influence, rarely known 
To my waking sense, is the undertone 
Of sky and sea and the pallid rose, 
That over my balcony sheds its snows. 

I feel the pressure of crimes and cares; 

'Tis the weight of the world my shoulder bears ! 
One may not be upright, but must be strong, 
To carry the weight of the world along. 



J 



¥(70 ^poet^ Joraf. 

1 POET said: I will sing a song, 

Shall travel by land and sea, 
From heart to heart, and be sung, long, long, 
When the clover grows over me. 

The song that I sing must be deep and free 

Sweet and simple and wild; 
To sink to the soul of the worker, said he, 

And be dear to the little child. 

He traversed the valley, he crossed the plain, 
He climbed to the rocky height; 

And many a faint melodious strain 
Possessed his soul at night. 

But under his hand there grew no song. 

And lie sat by a southern sea, 
Lamenting: — the way is weary and long, 

And the truth is far from me. 

But sweet is the day on the velvet hills, 

And sweet is the golden air; 
And sweet is the bountiful sun, that fills 

Full crystals everywhere. 



the poet's song. 77 

He turned, and saw in the sand of the beach 

A flower blown late in Spring; 
Insignificant, living to reach 

A colorless ripening. 

Here is the sign at last ! he cried. 

One on the shifting sand, 
Hidden and strong, — and one blown wide, 

High on the mesa laud. 

Heartsease gold on the passionless plain, 

Dew plants down by the sea; 
And under the oak trees after the rain 

The pale anemone. 

Let poets crowned sing royal songs, 

And simple singers sweet; 
Mine to the infinite waste belongs, 

Trodden by aimless feet. 



/WEET sea-city ! Though I turn 
,J) To the Gila's banks that burn 

In torrid summers; 
Ne'er shall I deny my love, 
Or fail in fight to hold thy glove, 

Against all comers ! 



Eamia. 



AM Lamia ! Beware of my voice, 
Beware of my baleful eyes ! 

No man who is cursed by me 
Answers in any wise; 
For I am Lamia ! 
When the soft night winds arise, 
I drop my sad disguise 

Of womanhood, 

And away to the wood, 
Where the love of my true life lies. 
For I am Lamia. 

I steal through tangled bowers, 

In marshy fens I wake 
To the full swift joy of occult powers. 

Like the famous Eden snake ; 
For I am Lamia ! 
O ancestor of ours, 
Your sacred vision towers 

Aloft in the night 

Of my delight. 
While womanly nature cowers; 
For I am Lamia. 



79 



Over the sunrise plain 

I go, to torture and tears; 
Over across the wild champaign, 

To the cruel loves of years. 
Yet lam Lamia, 
And I watch for the bloody stain 
Of the sun's decline again; 

Then away to the wood 

Where womanhood 
In the serpent folds is slain. 
For I am Lamia ! 



(io-day, 



|||0-DAY the sea is blue; 

To-morrow it will be grey. 
But change as it may, blue or grey 

We shall have had to-day ! 

j. 

To-day I cling to you; 

To-morrow I'm up and away. 
But change as I may, here or awaj 
We shall have had to-day ! 



R^awody. 

|pllVE me scarlet for my head, 
"~" Let me shine in royal red 
Once — ah ! jnst to-night. 
Crown me ! It shall fade away 
With the dawning of the day, 

With the faintest light 
Of the sweet flowered summer morn. 
Though I am a poet born. 

Let my weary fingers hold 
Handfuls of the heart's-ease gold; 

All bright colors bring — 
Flaming poppies in their cups, 
Lupines, where the wild bee sups. 

Wheat in green of spring; 
Salvias from the mesa land, 
White stramonium from the sand. 

Open all the windows wide, 
Till the soul be satisfied 

With sea-winds sweeping tlirougli- 
Till the brows, too pale and wan 



BHAPSODY. #1 



For such wreath to rest upon, 

Reddening anew, 
Bear their blossoms, tempest- warm. 
Flower of sea and fruit of storm. 



Jym patty. 

RIEF is so common and pleasure so rare, 

Let sorrow be lonely and lonely despair. 

But the moment of grace 

Needs an answering face, 
For perfection of joy, — Ah, so fast in its flight ! 
Companionless, what is more sad than delight? 

When I suffer, I shrink from the world and from you, 
When I sigh, shall no, soul be uncomforted too ! 

I will cover my face 

In distress or disgrace;; 
But rejoicing in hope, under luminous skies, 
Let my pleasure be doubled in joy of your eyes ! 



n tfye Qty&nnel. 



jjjN the daytime loitering, loitering, 
Under niy lemon trees; 
In the evening listening, listening, 
To the monotone of the seas. 

The tides arise and the moon also, 

And she makes a path for me, 
Straight to the Isles of the Blest as I row 

Over the silvered sea. 

Then in the moonlight rowing , rowing 

Out in the lane of light; 
My boat and I are going, going 

Beyond the reach of night. 

Let the winds arise, and the rains come down 

To water my thirsting trees; 
The tempest strikes the indolent town 

With myriad harmonies. 

Do I feel the wind ? Do I fear the rain V 

No tempest frightens me ! 
Swimming in sweets, forgotten of pain, 

I sing ^ith the singing sea: 



IN THE CHANNEL. §3 



By thee I am loitering, loitering, 

Sea, sea of my heart ! 
To thee I am listening, listening, 
Till the sun shall sink 

In a sea of blood, 
And demons drink 
Of the sanguine flood; 
And all the pleasures of life and of love, 
Green fields below, blue heavens above, 
In torrents of flame depart ! 



£1 juieUe of jlxteen. 

; fi% BE AVE unhappy child, whose heart foresaw 
A desolate future, and whose little hands 
Laid hold on Fate and bent her to thy will, 
Thy courage and thy wisdom shame us all. 
A just God cannot blame thee, and a God 
Of mercy will not, — thou art safe in death. 
So many women hold their coward lives 
Too sacred— ah, so bitter is the best, 
So terrible the worst of womanhood, 
-When clouds arise, it is a crime to liv<> ! 



ffin I^Iaod 



"My dream is of an island place, 
By distant seas kept lonely." — e. b. browning. 



(M OULD I leave it all behind me, 
All this life's perplexities; 
Fly to some enchanted island. 
Hidden in the howling seas; 
With wild storms shut in forever, 
And where breakers warn away 
Curious sailors, from the bar that 
Guards the solitary bay; 



Safe within this new Atlantis , 

Might I miss the clanging chains 
Of tyrant custom; find where only 

Tropic freedom ever reigns. 
Where the roses bloom in single 

Lovely rows of petals; where 
Trees grow as they will, and purple 

Wild grapes swing in amber air. 



AN ISLAND. 85 



If the fruits be somewhat bitter, 

I shall taste in bitterness 
Something sweeter than all sweetness, 

Since the nearer nature is. 
I have tried the world, and found its 

Treasures all of fairy gold; 
Gay in sunlight, bright and worthless, 

Smiles too bright from hearts too cold. 



When my trouble comes upon me, 

No one shall be there to see ; 
Not a voice in all that island 

Shall arise to madden me . 
Neither clasping hands that hurt, nor 

Strangling love's insensate cling; 
Friendship's sober malice, taunting 

Tortured hearts to rise and sing ! 



As the tiger — wounded —dying — 

Crawls away from sight of sun; 
Qrouches, bleeding, in the bushes, 

Knowing his last fight is done; 
Moans alone, and sucks the gaping 

Rents that slash his velvet skin ; 
So I vain would hide my tormeni 

From the eyes of curious kin. 



86 AN ISLAND. 

From the baleful eyes that glitter, 

Watchful eyes, that count the red 
Pulses, — seize the trembling fingers, 

Know me mad — and wish me dead ! 
Let me die ! — but not among them. 

Heaven, that all things ordereth, 
Knoweth I need them not, but rather 

Choose alone to tilt with Death. 



I 



j3 AVy^tepy of /Au^ie. 

,,, T is not always my own self that sings. 
Sometimes an alien spirit, finding me 
With dumb lips waiting a new melody, 

Creeps through my passive fingers to the strings, 

And plays thereon such sad and bitter things, 
That I, too, wonder if this music be 
Indeed my own, — who love not tragedy, 

Nor sombre flights of black tumultuous wings. 

A spirit takes my hands, my voice, my eyes, 

And fashions therewith subtile harmonies 
All unsubservient to my will's control. 

No tone of me in all the music lies ! 

Yet, the blind world, abhorring mysteries, 
Heads therein all the secrets of my soul ! 



II dpen^po<§°. 



||aOVE is not a tender leaf 

Withered by life's ardent sun; 

Blighted by the storms of grief, 

Dying just when life is done. 



Love will cling when life recoils, 
Love will stay when pleasure flies; 

So fill the cup with fiery spoils, 
Here's to love's unchanging eyes ! 



Friends, the clasp of love is sure, 
Ah ! Were friendship so sublime, 

Might this purer light endure 
We would ask no odds of time. 



But let the mind blow where it will, 
Be sad or merry, wild or wise, 

But fill the cups with amber still, 
Here's to friendship's changing eyes ! 



Clncette. 

DOZEN of loves I've strung, my dear, 
On jingling threads of rhyme; 
Loves from far and loves from near, 
Swept together and sung, my dear, 

To cheat my enemy, Time. 

But take no heed of my tongue, my dear, 

You've never a rival yet ! 
The rhymes are folly — you need not fear. 
Since Time his sickle has swung, my dear, 

No lover your soul need fret. 

Love, to tlie heart that is young, my dear, 

Is the fruit of the tragic tree; 
But Love, to one who has lingered here 
Too long, is a blossom sprung, my dear, 

From the hedge of comedy. 

If every lover I've sung, my dear, 

Could always be true — and new ! 
And rascally Time could quit this sphere, 
I'd scorn to be fresh and young, my dear. 
If it parted me from you ! 



Eli^e. 



pvEAD you are, Elise. 

Dead in your maiden prime. 
And your mother kisses your cold grey lips, 
Missing you, all the time. 

Now what if the girl were I? 

If I lay dead and alone, 
Would anyone, anyone, kiss my lips 

AY hen the beauty of blood had flown ? 



row 
9 



Would anyone touch my br 

And linger lovingly there 
Would any one touch, without shrinking from death 

In the folds, my tangled hair ? 

Better they did not — better I 

What does the free soul care, 
Floating, aluminous essence, 

In boundless spheies of air. 

Could any sense be left, 

It must be a sense of pain, 
'That one should honor the earthly bands 

Which could not bind me again. 



90 



Maidenly soul of Elise, 

When they kneel clown to pray; 
Join thou: O Father, forgive the tear 

They waste upon worthless clay ! 



^Iftep Cll 



(-gpflj FTEB all I have sworn to you, 
(gjj And suffered, alas, for your sake; 
The heart may be false that was meant to be true, 
But it never was made to break ! 



Stung as it is with tears, 

And tired of a world too old; 

The boon and the bane of desolate years, 
Death only can make it cold ! 



The blood of my heart runs wild, 
The fire of my heart burns free; 

You may break the heart of a foolish child. 
But never the heart of me ! 



Reverse, 



S ETWEEN the dusty palms to-night 
'■(§^ No ocean wind is blowing; 

By moombeans lit, the lilies white 
In ghastly rows are growing. 

A pallid mirror is the sea, 

And silent. What then speaks to me ? 



I know these strange electric thrills 
Which come to me unbidden, 

Are efforts of some mighty wills 
To break some barriers hidden. 

Some bold intelligence, which strives 

To enter into human lives. 



Some chord must be, some way there is, 

Unknown as yet to mortal; 
That other worlds shall speak to this, 

But who shall find the portal ? 
The vision seers still are dumb. 
Whence shall the revelation come? 



92 REVEKIE. 

This knowledge lurks in human souls, 
And saddens human senses — 

A monstrous power somewhere controls 
Magnetic influences. 

Beyond all knowledges lies yet, 

The universal alphabet. 



n COy G&^gIgr, 



J^ONEYSUCKLES bloom for you, 
'@ Humming-bird, afloat in aether; 
Lily bell and jasmine too, 
Heliotrope and purple heather. 

For the bronze-brown butterfly, 
For the yellow bee so bonny ; 

Merrily all day labor I, 

Asking not who stores up honey. 

Chirping baby linnets flit 

All among my pinks and pansies; 

On my lemon trees they sit, 
Twittering, full of whims and fancies. 

For their pleasure labor I, 

My land has no profit in it, 
Save to bee and butterfly. 
Humming-bird and red-cap linnet. 



Rate. 

I^OOLISH Fate, you've come too late; 
I've emptied every cup of bliss ! 
Every pleasure has been mine — 
Wealth-bought music, wit and wine, 
Flattering friends and lover's kiss. 

Long before you reached my door, 

I was tired of song and glee, 
Of the sparkling wines I quaffed, 
Of the lips that always laughed, 

Long before you came to me. 

House and lands were goblin hands 
That clothed my soul with bitterness. 

Wealth perplexed me night and day. 

Ah, foolish Fate ! you sought to slay, 
And saved my soul with storm and stress. 

Do your worst ! My life was cursed 
With too much prosperity. 

Sweet it seems to stand alone. 
Where nil the sands with wrecks are strown. 
Defying Fate to vanquish me. 



94 FATE. 

Tbe breakers roar upon the shore, 

And gulls fly in before the gale; 

The sun and storm to me are one. 

. I have no need of storm nor sun — 

No lands to plow, no fruits to fail. 



IJf'M no beauty? Nay, I know, 
That is why you love me so ! 



If my face were fair, I'd look 
In my mirror, not my book. 

If I saw a winsome lass, 
Blushing, smiling in the glass, 

With soft eyes, narcissus-blue, 
Would I turn to look at you ? 

Little recked he living sighs 

Who saw in the river heavenly eyes. 

Beauty's bliss is Beauty's bane; 
Vanity her only gain. 

She alone is sweet and true 
Whose image cannot rival you ! 



fi 



linnet 



L/^ HEBE'S the audacious thief 

Who stole my yellow bird's dinner ? 
There he sits on the white rose leaf 
A gay little red-headed sinner ! 

His sober mate peers out 

From her nest in the white rose tree ; 
"And what is the mistress scolding about?" 

She seems to be asking me. 

Your wicked husband stole, 

Brown lady, I tell you true, 
From my own little gold bird's china bowl, 

The dinner he gave to you ! 

Says the brown dame: "Are not we 

Then also your very own ? 
You give us the rent of the white rose tree, 

And we sins? for you alone." 

But you have a husband gay 

And downy nestlings three; 
My bird, in his golden cage all day. 

H;is never a friend but 



96 A LINNET. 

Says the wise brown dame: "Behold 
Our love is the truest still; 

For us you need no cage of gold, 
We stay of our own free will." 



N the smoke of my dear cigarito 
Cloud castles rise gorgeous and tall, 

And Eros, divine muchachito, 
With smiles hovers over it all. 

But dreaming, forgetting to cherish 
The lire at my lips, as it dies, 

The dream and the rapture must perish, 
And Eros descend from the skies. 

O wicked and false muchachito, 
Your rapture I yet may recall ; 

But like my re-lit cigarito 
A bitterness tinges it all ! 



JaV^d from Wr^ce+v. 



M[/LL these idle tales you tell me, 

""-"-* In an idle hour; 

Whenever the wind blows loud and strong, 
And the tempest crashes the coast along, 
Flinging my ruined ships among 
The drift of a rocky shore; 



All these idle tales you tell me, 
Sooth I must forget ! 
For treasure in plenty — all my gold 
Is sinking in many a vessel's hold, 
Silken nettings, fold over fold, 
With the careless seas are wet. 



All these idle tales you tell 

I know the meaning of ! 
I've heard too often my bold bright brows 
Sung in the waits of a gay carouse, 
Mad adoration and passionate vows, 

The wild-eyed double of Love. 



98 SAVED FROM WRECK. 

All these idle tales you tell me, 

Now, — but are they done ? 
Is the love-lay over at last ? Behold, 
The storm ceased too when the story was told. 
And into the harbor's daylight gold, 

My ships sail, one by one ! 



j3 CI2e^a^e. 

jj( SEE a phantom at the open door . 

The thoughtful air and close grave mouth I know 
The serious eyes, where humorous glances, grow 
To sudden recognition ! Ah, no more 

Shall I behold him coming, as of yore, 
With eager questions of the day, below 
Whose half -fictitious words, an undertow 

Ran deep, of curious philosophic lore. 

My friend is dead ! This shadowy presence seems 
The untranslatable counterpart of dreams. 

O grave and gracious, kindly soul, I said: 
Why wilt thou linger by these earthly themes, 
Thou who can'st wander by immortal streams ? 

Go ! Take my love to my triumphant dead ! 



'ill Jteahl?. 



W) EFORE my memory takes its flight 
IP Into the gloom of saddest night; 
While yet I know when south winds blow. 
My garden walks shall overflow 

With blessed streams of rain; 
While yet I see the olive tree 
Between me and the joyous sea, 
Or wake to hear, mid tempest drear, 
Daemonic voices in mine ear, 
A prophecy of pain; 



Let me alone keep fearful watch, 
The leaders of my fate to catch; 
Alone be conscious of that fate, 
Which, long delaying, comes too late, 

While all my roses spread 
Their breasts of gold before the sun, 
And lemon blossoms, every one, 
Are tossed to earth as lavishly 
As if no prophet spoke to me, 

A warning from the dead. 



100 TILL DEATH. 

At least the moan be mine alone, 
The deep monotonous undertone 
Of starry blooms and tropic glooms, 
And wilding blossoms' faint perfumes: 

That, when my body dies, 
No voice shall say: — Ah ! well away ! 
She lived indeed beyond her day. 
But this instead: O doubly dead 
To mirth and me is this dear head, 

That now so lowly lies ! 



ClIaiD. 



APPY Alain ! The Queen has kissed thee. 
Not for beauty and not for love; 
But for lips that sing 
The songs that ring 
From the hells below to the heavens above ? 



u 



£&UF> e n£e. 



SEE the coast of Mexico, 
Transfigured in the sunset's glow. 
Laurence, do you remember yet, 
How we two stood ere sun had set, 
And wished ourselves across the bay 
Where shadowy level gardens lay; 
And how we fancied we could see 
Brown nuts upon the cocoa tree. 
And happy children on the sands 
Who ran and clapped their dusky hands. 



Now, wandering over waves again. 

I seek forgetfulness in vain. 

Your face comes, dimly fair, to me, 

Through storms of the Caribbean Sea; 

I see it when I walk the deck, 

And look across Tehuantepec; 

And when, at dawn, we sail away 

From Acapulco's breathless bay, 

My heart grows lighter, soul more tree. 

Knowing the ways of destiny ! 



mjspoVi^atioo. 



w 



HILE I sing the careless sweetness 
Of these sunlit southern seas; 
You will pardon incompleteness, 
Since you love my melodies. 



Many a poet waits before you, 

Sings from printed notes his score; 

Yet for grace I still implore you, 
Since my visions run before, 

Ah, so far beyond the measures; 

Far beyond the rhythm and rhyme, 
Singing only simple pleasures, 

Songs of youth and summer-time. 

And my song goes rippling, streaming, 
Back to youthful dear delights; 

Fills the currents of your dreaming 
With the wines of vanished nights. 

If I sing, like Goethe's linnet, 
Clinging to my native vine; 

And you feel no meaning in it, 
Is that any fault of mine ? 



H 



UST I one day make the journey? 
Even so. 
All alone through sombre portals 

Riding slow; 
Letting flying feet go by me; 
Then shall speechless Death deny me, 
Voice to cry — 
Although I die, 

Let the horses go ! 

Friends who follow, friends who love me, 

Riding slow; 
Will they nurse their natural sadness? 

Even so ! 
And the dearest will deny me, 
While the flying 1 feet go by me. 
The final grace 
Of a final race, 

And think I do not know ! 



Ir^epiked ho XI. £. 



PUEPLE grapes of olden time ! 
Your blood ran clear in rhythm and rhyme. 
We drank with thankful hearts and free 

The brimming chalice ; 
Looking out across the sea, 
From golden valleys. 



Now alone, distressed, forlorn, 
Why was singer ever born ? 

Just to brave an adverse gale, 

Helpless, shivering, 
Songless, wineless, hopeless, pale, 
With sorrow quivering ? 



Why ? Except the gods delight 
In the torments of their might ; 
Love to see their creatures lie, 

Cowed, defenseless ; 
Lifting prayers to the sky. 
The gods are senseless ! 



INSCRIBED TO N. L. 105 

Wiser were they not, to give 
A little hope to those who live ? 
O blind and cruel deities, 

Who reign above ; 
We ask but justice, — a little peace, 
And a little love ! 



J^halaoha 



2)R0M sand to sand, with dripping feet 
And yellow hair blown backward, fly 
O youthful Queen, so fair and fleet, 
Arcadia's eager striplings by. 

The sapphires of the cloudless sky, 

The mountain's emerald crown complete, 
Are jewels born to render, sweet, 
Fair tributes to4hy royalty. 

But, flying Queen, by brows untanned 
And curling lips thou shalt not be 

Remembered in that far-off land 
Of future, — but by songs that we, 

Thy poets sang, when on the sand 
Thy steps were swifter than the sea. 



w 



Oa<k a ^ GpeVilka. 



HEN you plant Grevilleas gay, 
Dash the tender limbs with spray 
Clear of weeds the walks around 
And well enrich the garden ground. 



Up the tender sapling springs, 
Borne aloft on emerald wings; 
Flings his orange plumes afar 
Like savage chiefs adorned for war. 



But who the ancient oak has set 
In wide and wild canadas, let 
The trunks uprear, the leaflets stir ? 
The oak disdains the gardener ! 



In spring he greets the building birds; 
In summer heats the panting herds 
Collect about the massive stem, 
Whose branches cool and shelter them. 



OAK AND GREVILLEA. 107 

So, tended, watched and warded, see 
How often dames of high degree 
Wear barbarous colors, while the best 
Brave womanhood is simply dressed. 



Pg eppofciradi^. 

| A Pariah ! I forlorn ! 

Nay, my friend, you dream. 
Here's the gold and glowing morn, 
Here's the glancing stream. 

Out of misery's depth I rose 

To this blooming height; 
Changed the sombre sea of woes 

For rivers of delight. 

Yet you doubt me ? Yet you look 

Down to kith and kin ? 
Better read this mountain brook 

Which mirrors no man's sin. 

Where the forest's dreamy hosts 
By real winds are stirred, 

Sin and shame seem formless ghosts, 
Fame a foolish word ! 



•H. G. 

/P^HE Master's hand is cold, 

The Master's cheek is pale; 
And hear the rabble, clamoring bold 
At the gates where his children wail. 

Was then his life in vain ? 

Blossoms of labor and pain 
Shall redden and rise again ! 

His words flew into the heart of me 
Like wonderful birds of the south and the sea, 
With outspread wings that were broad to bear 
The full sweet weight of the gracious air. 

This is a dainty world ! 

Bountiful unto those 
Who glide in the sun with canvas furled, 

Crowned with the crimson rose 

Of silence and repose. 

But for the rower afloat 

On a stormy sea at night; 
She coils like a serpent around his boat, 



109 



She flies like a sea-devil at his throat, 
Her satellites delight 
To chatter and hiss and bite. 

That the Master's soul at last is free 
Of the clamorous rabble, glad are we; 
Glad that the struggling hands should be 
Free of the oars on a darkened sea. 



I 



Jylvie, CI /telody. 

YLVIE'S running down the lane; 

Sylvie ! Sylvie ! 
Bring your roses back again 
Sylvie dear, my Sylvie. 

I'm too old to follow you, 

Sylvie, Sylvie. 
Mortal men in-Vain pursue 

The flying steps of Sylvie. 

Call her now, — she will not stir; 

Sylvie ! Sylvie ! 
Hooted roses cover her, 

Death overtook my Sylvie ! 



J)uetto. 



^HE coast was muttering in depth of night; 

I looked across the sea: 
When — when shall dearest nature's signal light 

From dead love set me free ? 

O on that beach what seaweed clings forlorn 

Awaiting overflow; 
As I from heaven await the lingering morn, 

And fresh hope's tender glow. 

II 

Though waters may submerge the drifted leaf 

When all its tints have fled ; 
And sunlight kiss the barren lips of grief, 

The primal rose is dead. 

No wave shall wash the greyness from thy cheek 

No shallow ocean cover 
The helpless heart, and voice that can but speak 

To curse the love and lover. 



n Extpemi^. 



HAT does it matter, if after the end, 

Father or brother or lover or friend 
Will weep for a moment, walk slowly, speak low: 
Dead is the woman who loved us so ! 
Then plant for a sign a useless stone, 
Forgetting, before the weeds have grown, 
My smile and my presence, my raptures and sighs, 
And the reckless heart that so coldly lies. 



Nay — if you love me at all, give me 

The marble for hearthstone— the tears to be 

A comfort for present sorrows — and when 

My voice shall no longer answer again, 

Cover me quickly, and let me lie 

Ungrieved at the first, as surely I 

Am forgotten at last,— and go your "way 

Merrily ! I shall have had my day ! 



(g&pkara, 



^ Y daughter has grown so tall, 
So wise and tender and sweet: 
And here in the dusk is a caballero, 
Down at her feet ! 

O Padre ! What shall I do ? 
The child is still so young; 
But she has a heart, and the caballero 
A silver tongue. 

The Padre smiled, and said: 
Truly the maiden grows 
Wise and tall, and I see that the rosebud 
Has blown a rose. 

To-day is St. Barbara's feast, 
Send your daughter to me ; 
The truth will be told in confession, no doubt. 
Benedicite ! 

The priest is lithe and blond, 
With downcast, eloquent eyes; 
What if a girl, lifting lids in the twilight, 
Were not so wise ? 



Old Day<$. 



TALK of love — and think of tears ! 
The only love my life could know 
Is buried now so many years, 
My tears long since have ceased to flow. 



I've played at love and mimicked grief 
So many times, and sometimes, when 

The autumn flings her dying leaf 
Upon my head, I dream again; 



And ancient passions, waking, sting 
My heart to madness; and the streams 

Bun once again, and linnets sing 
The music of my youthful dreams. 



Yet well I know my day is done. 

That love upon some fairer head 
His largess lays,— and I, alone, 

With roses dead en garlanded, 



114 OLD DAYS. 

Walk down deserted streets, — a shade 
That just remembers how the sun 

Of happy seasoQS was arrayed 

In gold — before my day was done I 



61 ReVepi© \n et^peF/. 

^HE preacher's dreamy monotone I hear, 

As 't were a murmuring brook in pleasant fields, 
Whose mellow, measured ripples, broken oft 
By skimming birds, as are the priest's low words 
By voices of the chanting choir — flow on; 
Telling of waving trees in summer woods 
And yellow-winged songsters, fluttering 
In little trills of pure content; and flowers 
That catch the balmy air with fingers white, 
Or blue or palest pink. And so, I hear 
The preacher's dreamy monotone that flows 
Too gently for a soul to comprehend 
That life and death and all the mysteries 
Of Time and of Eternity, are woven 
In his discourse, which only serves to lull 
The senses to a musical repose. 



Remirai^eeraee. 



"^L^HAT hushes all this dreary rain 
A/ With summer melodies ? 
How is it that I see again 
The beech and maple trees, 
And hear the endless sound of streams 
That glide and glimmer through all my dreams ! 



A forest flower — crushed and brown, 

With faded moss around it ! 
I look, and lo ! the kill runs down 
Between the woods that bound it, 
Over grey rocks whereon the sun 
Shines downward through the leaves at noon. 



And nameless blossoms cluster in 

A hundred hidden places, 
Pale, faintly veiled with azuline, 
Or flushed, like Msenad faoes; 
Enthroned among these mosses green, 
I reigD again, a sylvan queen. 



116 REMINISCENCE. 

Ambition flies this throne of mine, 

That green boughs arch above; 
I hear no earthly music in 
The waters that I love. 
But fairy feet reel down the river 
In whirling waltzes forever and ever. 

And eerie glances gild the rift 

And rippling voices rise 
From eddy and turn and tangled drift 
Of rustling leaves that lies 
On the edge of the stream, and warm winds blow 
Over the rye of the fields below. 

But, ah ! the swift years pass away, 

And I see through tears again 
My dreary life -this dreary day, 
This dreary dripping rain — 
A rolling tide of years and seas 
Between those joyful days and these. 



'RAPES are good,— and love is good 

If the day be fair enough; 
But very full of fiery blood 
Is the grape, and strong the love that could 

Be sweet if the day were rough ! 



u £Demop>iam ? 



[Mary Bennett Hasbrouck. Born in New York City, May 16, 1877. 
Died, Nov. 16, 1884.] 



MlpVEN as delicious winds most softly blow 
From Orient lands of cruelty and crime, 
Nor bear one hint prophetic of that time 
When sudden earthquakes rend them; even so, 



Thy sacred grief this sunlight could not show 
Nor mine to thee this ineffectual rhyme. 
As well the zephyrs of this cloudless clime 

Might melt your savage mountains heaped with snow. 



This is the world's despair ! Pure loneliness 

That language cannot utterly express. 
Yet think, —how smiling angels took the hand, 

The little, little hand you dropped with tears: 
And gently led her to that perfect land 

Where you shall follow after many years. 



61 /AogWb Pyt^ia^. 

#'HE knew that I lied when I promised to love her 
$ Forever, Lulu, O Lulu ! 

And I knew the hand that she put up to cover 
Her face in its blushes was plighted to you. 

But, friend of my heart, do not therefore disclaim her, 

It is not the fault of Lulu ; 
An innocent soul you have truly, to blame her, 

What woman last night clung so closely to you ? 

Bel's song's were a-ringing, her ringlets a-flying, 

Her wild fingers clinging to you; 
And how could I help in the moonlight espying 

The sorrowful eyes of the lonely Lulu ? 

She walked all alone in the garden of roses 

(And Bel was a-singing to you !) 
And I on my knees practised prayers and poses 

To win back the smiles to the lovely Lulu. 

She listened, I own it, but Phil, on my honor, 

I knew she was thinking of you ? 
And yet for the arts that I wasted upon her, 

You're angry, you scamp, with the charming Lulu. 



A MODERN PYTHIAS. 119 

1 told lier I loved her, yes, over and over, 

And why should I hide it from you ? 
A lie, as I said, but dear Phil, if you love her,- 

Don't tempt me again to make love to Lulu I 



Gl^tm^, 1883 



j//|^HIS Christmas Eve no whirling snows 
Conceal Christ's angels as they pass; 
But violets glimmer in the grass, 
And fair unfolds the royal rose; 

And free the gay arroyo flows 
To smiling seas of chroastas. 
Heaven's blue above,— and I, alas ! 

Am blinded, faint with fortune's blows, 

Yet of my best I offer up , 
To grace this golden season; 

And paint upon my Christmas cup 
This flower of rhythmic reason ; 

The winds are Still, the waxes at peace, 
And I forgive my enemies ! 



Jie^ta. 



WILL not barter calm for .any crown. 
Bathed in delight of summer silences, 
I feel the wild blood of the swaying trees 
Beat underneath my clasping arms; and down 



Among alfalfa blooms the crickets brown 
Chirp faintly; and from out the hazy seas, 
One ship, with canvas spread to catch the breeze. 

Sails slowly in, toward the sleepy town. 



At rest amid these blessed monotones, 

No fleshless fingers point to empty thrones, 

Nor voices break my dreams with comments rude. 



Let chord or discord shake iEolian strings; 
When on my lips the surging passion sings, 
The echo shall be sweet in solitude ! 



CI Jaint. 

A FANCY SKETCH. 

[1872. | 

OVELY saint ! Your face is fair, 
A halo rests upon your hair. 
Were you not a saint, you'd be 
A pretty maiden, fresh and free. 
No one knows your story, — yet 
I shall try to fancy it. 

In a town of Africa 
You were young and bold and gay; 
A Spanish rover captured you, 
Sailing with his thieving crew; 
Bore you to his castle grim. 
There you calmly murdered him. 

You closely cut your trailing hair, 
And donned the beard he used to wear; 
You took your choice of broiderecl suits, 
You cased your little feet in boots; 
Placed his sombrero on your brows, 
And tranquilly you left the house. 



122 A SAINT. 

I think you must have taken to 

The highway next, having in view, 

The dreadful impecunious way 

Your parents lived in Africa; 

And with sweet filial piety 

You went to work ! — Ah ! Woe is me I 

In following this adventurous path 
You roused a fiery monarch's wrath. 
His soldiers dragged you, rudely too, 
Before the irate sovereign who 
Saw with dismay and then delight 
Your cherry lips and tresses bright. 

Your punishment was not so bad ; 
The king just ordered all he had, 
His wife —his children — army — fleet — 
In short, himself, thrown at your feet ! 
But you stood up and sweetly said: 
O horrors ! No ! I'll die instead. 

O then he raged and howled and swore 
And kicked. In fact, like many more 
Enlightened princes that we read of, 
The truth he did not stand in need of; 
But claimed a place in every heart 
Without exertion on his part. 

When this my saint he tried to catch, 
This wicked monarch met his match. 



123 



Half choked with choler and surprise, 
With red rage rolling in his eyes, 
He made them build a funeral pyre. 
And flung her on the blazing fire ! 

In plainest speech, it would not do ! 

The soldiers roasted her, 'tis true, 

But could not hush the tongue that mocked 

The tyrant yet. His courtiers, shocked, 

Heard many facts about his size, 

His bunchy nose and squinting eyes. 

And there, you see, the story ends; 
Our saint found influential friends 
Somewhat too late, perhaps, to be 
Of interest to her bodily ; 
Since those that most bewailed her fate 
Were full three hundred years too late ! 



({[% DEAR earthly mother, beloved and true 

In this world no other shares empire with you; 

Yet changed and estranged, from your life let me flee. 
O one friend whose kisses were dear in the past, 
Your love my life misses, — yet I leave you at last, 

Who am born of the dawn and betrothed to the sea. 



fb 



pen, 



/HE took up her comb of gold 
To straighten her tangled hair; 
Her glancing eyes were blue and bold. 
Her song was false and fair. 

Come, she sang, O come, 

To the tranquil deeps below; 
There is my heart and there is my home, 
And there shall my true love go. 

Down to the underland 

My dolphins diving are, 
To a wonderful stretch of fairy strand, 
Unlit by moon or star. 

Down to a crystal cave, 

With pillars of pearl upright; 
Beyond the roar of the shoreward wave, 
Beyond the sad world's light. 

Come, she sang, O come, 
Mariner, come with me; 
To rest in the depths of my ocean home 
Beneath the billowing sea. 



A SYREN. 125 



There shalt thou find repose, 
No tempest dares to vex, 
Nor any dominant wind that blows 

To scatter the listless wrecks. 

But Love shall be our guide, 
And music lead the way; 
Mariner, come ! thy fate abide, 
And loyal Love obey ! 

Grey is the earth and cold, 
Azure and warm the sea; 
Leave your loves and leave your gold 
For the golden love of me ! 

The youthful sailor hears 

The sea nymph's wondrous lay; 

But the wise old Captain stops his ears, 

And hears not a word they say. 

The ship sails on and on, 
The syren fluting still; 
But the Captain to the helm has gone 
And sailors must do his will. 

Adieu, my dear ! Adieu ! 
The Captain grimly said : 
Could sailor of mine but listen to you, 
Ma foy ! — he were but dead ! 



"Jafot Delicto^." 

/AINT delicious ! Saint supreme- 1 
How can poet lack a theme, 
Who beneath thy skies may dream, 
Fortunes grand ? 

Who between thy olive trees 
Catches glimpse of azure seas, 
Need not lack new melodies 
Of the land. 

Every curling wave that rides, 
Every broken wave that slides, 
Every creeping wave that glides 
Up the sand, 

Beats and breaks with accents new, 
Melodies divine and true, 
Only poets, such as you, 
Understand. 



I 



jon^ and Jira^er^. 

AM weary of feminine voices, 
That murmur and moan and complain ; 
That utter sweet sibylline noises, 
Interpreting only their pain. 

give me a voice that rejoices 

In tumult and torrent and rain; 
The masculine spirit whose choice is 
In battle to slay or be slain. 

1 am weary of feminine voices 

That murmur and moan and complain. 



I am tired of effeminate singers, 

Who mutter a bitter refrain; 
Whose nervous intractable fingers 

Strike discord^ again and again. 

give me a music that lingers 

Like dawn on a storm-driven main; 
Like bells out at sea, when the ringers 

Take heart and take hope from the strain. 

1 am tired of effeminate singers, 

Who murmur and moan and complain. 



,|llf HE sun is down, the ship goes on. 
We hear, through hapless night, 
The breakers' roar upon the shore, 

Now hidden from our sight; 

Awaiting the morning light. 

The wind is strong, we bound along, 
Beyond the channel's scope; 

When morning breaks on distant peaks 
And lightens down the slope, 
To the gardens, farewell hope ! 

Shall, haunting them, the slender stem, 
Uprising in her time, 

As bravely hold her cups of gold, 
And yellow heartsease chime, 
Courtesying to the rhyme; 

And we be borne beyond the morn 
On blackening waves to toss, 

With sad surprise in swollen eyes 
And sense of final loss, 
Stricken our lives across ? 



PASSING SANTA BARBARA. 129 

But no ! but no ! When wind-flowers blow, 

And streams run wild again ; 
And sunlight shines on budding vines, 

And riders sweep the plain. 

After the joyful rain; 

We too shall feel spring currents steal 

With sweet resistless flow, 
To nerve and blood, and with the flood, 

From pallid fields of snow, 

Merrily southward go ! 



CBa^pe. 



tIDE your face in flimsy lace 
Lady mine ! 
Let no sun upon it shine. 
So shall all men glance, and say, 
" She is sweet as dawn of day." 

Though you may be tired of play 

Lady fair, 
And sigh for breath of honest air, 
Once the veil is lifted, pass, 
You 're no longer fair, alas ! 



Cla^t. 



)URPLE bells begin to chime, 
This is summer's marching time. 

To the front the squirrels run; 
Through thick hazes peers the sun. 

Little streamlets hide their heads 
Underneath their sandy beds. 

Mother quail has led her brood, 
Twittering, through the dusky wood. 

I'm a careless summer tramp; 
Welcome, comrade, to my camp ! 

Welcome : If you care to know 
Where the white quiotes blow, 

Welcome ! If you love the stream 
Where the tiger lilies dream ! 



I? e God^ ho +Ieap." 



|[F you wish the gods to hear, 
"* Do not whisper in their ear; 



Do not cower with the crowd, 
Tell them what they are, aloud ! 

Call them deaf, call them dull, 
Perjured, blind, unbeautiful. 

Then to quit a poet's scorning, 

They will come on wings of morning: 

Swift and sweet and nothing loth; 
Breaking through the undergrowth 

Of tyrannous and ignoble deeds, 
Barbarous customs, cruel creeds, 

In the poet's sight to be 

Gay and gentle, wise and free. 



^pupahiora. ^\ J^e&m 



ffi^O follow Christ from star to star, 

To stoop where countless millions are, 

Undone, oppressed; 
To lift the lowly, check the strong, 
To help the right and baffle wrong, 

And then to rest, 
My work being done, to rest with thee, 
Through measureless eternity ! 



This is the glorious theme of themes ! 
O Christ of love, O Lord of dreams, 

Let me not stray 
Beyond thine infinite universe, 
Though steeped in degradation's curse, 

Show me the way 
To heaven at last ! O Christ, my soul, 
Take thou the part, — give me the whole ! 



teoVe m tfye faulty, 



W^OVE is like a pampas plume, 
That sways in summer air. 

See the gay wind play with it, 
And toss its golden hair. 



Banish now the pampas plume 
A thousand leagues away; 

Where's the evanescent bloom 
That lit the summer day ? 



Love that lives by sun and sea 

And southern zephyrs fanned 

Exists, a cruel mimicry, 

Beyond his native land. 



Strangers say : Behold the grace, 
The shaking golden head ! 

They never saw dear Love alive, 
And dream he is not dead. 



Italy aod California, 



\ajt ^ i* *° see thy roses, Italy ! 

That men and women, friends and lovers, went 
In chattering shoals across the continent? 
Or for thy jasmine buds they braved the sea? 



Was it to see the Albans smile on thee ? 
Ah no ! far otherwise, they only scent 
The perfume of the century's discontent. 
And cull from thee the rose of memory ! 



Our own beloved needs no alien grace. 

The rapt, seraphic glory of her face, 

Her gracious tresses, flowers that inter-twine, 



Draw distant worshippers of every race. 

She needs no stumbling footsteps on a shrine, 

Needs not this stammering tenderness of mine ! 



Janta U&pkapa'^ Qentenri\a\. 

| December 4, 1886.] 

^^HE flags of all nations are flying to-day; 

They float in a friendly inconsequent way; 
German, Italian and Austrian, 
Kussian and French for the moment agree, 
And the dragon of China winks slyly to see 
Ireland's harp and the moon of Japan. 

Here swings the Mexican tricolor ; here 

Britannia's ensign; strange colors appear 

In queer combinations unknown; — but hold ! 

Where flies the victorious scarlet and gold 

Of the Conquistadores ? Commingled and twined 

With Columbia's colors, they flaunt in the wind ! 

, Salute ye, salute ye the banner of Spain, 
As we march down the fluttering highway again; 
Through arches triumphal that hold over all 
Cypress and lilies and palms; and call 
Santa Barbara's fairest to lead the array 
To honor the city's centennial day. 



136 SANTA BARBARA^ CENTENNIAL. 

Embowered in flowers the fair maidens ride 
With gay knights galloping at their side, 
In serapes or wild chapareras; 
In satin and velvet and lace they fare, 
With fajas astream on the indolent air; 
Descendants of old caballeros. 



Here saunters the burro in train and here 
Glitters the old time truculent spear, 
The dominant race adorning. 
And over all, to the southern breeze 
Flutters the banner that graced the seas 
When Cabrillo's guns gave warning. 

O Conquistadores ! What greeting can we 
Extend to the men of your century ? See 
How beneath the bold waving of banners we go, 
Untouched and unthrilled by the music below. 
The long vanished galleons of Spain 
Shall never be seen in the channel again. 

Though we wear gay golden and burning red, 
The saint that we honor is dead, is dead ! 
Centennial days of December are sweet 
And gaily we march down the holiday street; 
Stepping along to the wild rolling drum, 
While our saint, in her anger, refuses to come. 



santa Barbara's centennial. 137 

O prophet and saint of the future ! Aread us, 

Where shall our imminent destiny lead us ? 

In spite of bold trappings, the songs of the day 

Carry us constantly farther away. 

The old time, the fair time, the sweet time has flown, 

And the century only can pipe to its own. 



(gpoKeo. 



^JfOURSELF it was that let the crystal fall, 

^/ Which might for years to come have held your wine. 

Your careless heart it was, and none of mine, 

That let the sweet hour slip beyond recall . 
Now foolishly you sigh, — regretting all 

The flying hours in which nor word nor sign 

Gave any token of the feeling fine 

Which now would fain retard love's burial. 
Since love is dead, it shall be buried deep ! 

A bitter shame it were, for one to keep 

In all men's sight irrreparable decay. 
And though your whole heart's crystal shattered lies. 

Unmoved I listen to your tragic sighs. 

yourself it was that threw the cup away ! 



Seen on the Coast of Ireland. 

little one cries for a story. Pet, 
tell you the story that Margaret, 
The ancient nurse, I remember yet, 

Used, to rock me, a child, to sleep 

And made my very flesh to creep 

With the doleful wail from a foreign deep. 

I took — all breathless, Margaret's word, 

For the beautiful Ellen who loved a lord, 

And the brown girl killed by Lord Thomas' sword 

Of the ship that sailed from the north countrie, 
The boy that breasted the boiling sea, 
To sink the Yellow Golden Tree. 

And many a rhyme of sinner or saint, 

Songs and stories, old and quaint, 

Come back. But the shadows are growing faint. 



THE LAST MERMAID. 139 

Of all her stories, I loved the best 
The one she told with the greatest zest, 
Queer enough, it must be confessed. 

Only the tongue of an Irishman 

Could mimic Margaret's brogue. I can 

But tell the tale " a l'Americain." 

It was the last mermaid, she swore, 
That ever was seen on the Irish shore, 
Where mermaids once had swum galore. 

There was a day, my nurse would say, 
When mermaids came ashore to play 
About the borders of Bantry Bay. 

They gathered about the beach in flocks, 
Climbing over the wave-worn rocks, 
Combing forever their golden locks. 

They frolicked" like children on the sand 
And every mermaid held in her hand 
Her golden comb, as she left the land. 

There was sonic reason, — not quite clear 
To my childish mind, why mermaids here 
Must carry their combs to disappear. 



140 THE LAST MERMAID. 

But it was true, as Margaret's 

Own cousin knew, — that who regrets 

His youth, his strength, his love, his debts f 

Could make all square by borrowing 

A mermaid's comb ! While she, poor thing, 

Must die on the sand with sorrowing' ! 

Now John Mag-rath had seen the girls 

Of ocean rise from foaming' swirls 

Of the underworld; had seen the curls 

Of one little mermaid flung in play 
Upon the billows of Ban try Bay; 
And vowed her comb to steal away ! 

A jolly son of the Emerald Isle 

Was John Magrath. With a knowing smile, 

He went, to work his wicked wile. 

He pounced upon the mermaid class 
One summer night, as bold as brass 
— Frightened them into the sea, alas ! 

His pretty mermaid dropped her comb, 
And could not follow her sisters home 
To their sea-green halls beneath the foam. 



THE LAST MEKMAIDt 141 

John Magrath had picked it up ! 
Then soberly went home to sup. 
But over the fumes of a steaming cup 

He told it all ! Then, woes on woes, 

A din of wild dispute arose; 

Some menaced his eyes, and some his nose ! 

"'A mermaid is not lightly crossed !" 

Sobbed one. One screamed : " Your soul is lost!'' 

From tongue to tongue the taunt was tossed. 

John Magrath thought little but this : 

To come to me her duty is; 

I'd like to feel a mermaid's kiss. 

About the borders of Bantry Bay 
The billows broke in a wondrous way 
And lightnings glanced athwart the spray. 

John Magrath was sleeping sound, 
."Dreaming of the mermaid's ground; 
Heedless of the tempests round. 

He woke in tenor ! -A frightful wail 

Mingled with the clashing hail. 

A voice outshrieked the drivinc sale. 



142 THE LAST MEKMAID. 

" John Magra' — gi' me me comb I 
John Magra', I'll haunt your home 
Unless you gi' me back me comb ! " 

All the night the mermaid kept 
Her keening at the window; wept 
And wailed. Magrath, he never slept. 

He did not tell of the mournful maid 

Who sung his doleful serenade. 

He kept the comb. He was not afraid. 

The second night was bright and clear, 
And John Magrath awaked, to hear 
A gentler tone : — " O brother dear, 

Give me my comb ! My sisters all, 
Are dancing in their sea-swept hall; 
Give ! — or I'm lost beyond recall ! " 

The third night came with driving sleet. 
John Magrath strode down the street, 
And heard a fainter accent, sweet 

But strong : — " I invoke the ban o' ye ! 
John Magra' gi' me me comb, 
Or I'll make a sorry man of ye ! " 



THE LAST MERMAID. 143 

Here Margaret's voice would shrill and shriek, 
We clung to her side, all scared and meek, 
We did not dare to move or speak . 

*' John Magra', gi' me me comb ! " 

Or I'll make a sorry man o' ye; 
John Magra', gi' me me comb, 

Or I'll haunt every wan o' ye; 



John Magra', gi' me me comb, 

Or I'll invoke the ban o' ye; 
John Magra' (this with a howl that made us wince) 

I'll make a sorry man o' ye ! " 



John Magrath the comb would keep. 
He heard the seething waters weep, 
And mermaids moaning in the deep. 

Long years have passed, and now, they say 
No mermaid comes to Bantry Bay. 
From the Irish coast they have fled away. 



No single gentle nierniaiden 
lliis ever been seen by fishermen 
Peasant or lord of the land, since then. 



144 THE LAST MEKMAID. 

And John Magrath ? Why John Magrath, 

My little one ? There Avas gold 
In the comb, be sure, but what befell 
John Magrath, or ill, or well, 
Old Margaret never told I 



"I Will 120 +le&\/er2." 

\fl WILL no heaven but eternal rest. 

"When all these visions shall have passed away, 
The dreams of night and falser dreams of day, 
How sweetly, O how quietly, how blest 

Above desert I shall be, dispossessed 

Of tyrannous Life which now I must obey. 
For still eternities of peace I pray, 

And Death, dear leader, is a welcome guest. 

Now let the armies of the world go by, 

And strike, with joy, their unrelenting foes; 

If only in the earth where I shall lie 
Is mystic silence, and the deep repose 

Which feels not when the routed soldiers fly, 
Nor trembles at the roots of the growing rose ! 



/A&nd^&t&P, 



" Eastward roll the orbs of Heaven, 
Westward turn the thoughts of men; 

Let the poet, nature-driven, 

Wander eastward now and then." 

— Alger. 



"%W OU who would follow your fate too far, 
(^/ Hear the story of Mandhatar; 
The wisest monarch, the bravest man, 
And the proudest father in Hindustan ! 

When Mandhatar went forth to fight, 

- A thousand youths, supple and slim, 
All in warlike guise bedight, 

Took up their spears and followed him. 

And a woful noise was heard behind 
Like the moaning of a desert wind ; 

Maidens, wives and mothers were these, 

Crying in the King's palaces. 

Time and trouble and constant war 
Brought new possessions to Mandhatar. 
For there dwelt no doubt in the royal breast 
That a throne was his who could hold it best. 



146 MANDHATAR. 

And so well his tall brown sons had cast 

Their deadly spears and arrows, 
The heart of the King grew heavy at last : 

" Aha ! — How the whole world narrows ! 
Here there is no one left to fight. 

What can I do to keep my hand in ? " 
Then he glanced at the distant height 

Of Mount Meru,— there was a land in 
That mystical distance, said to be fair. 

Could Mandhatar not venture there ? 



He gathered his army again about him. 
Away and away, day after day, 

No one knew what the King was seeking. 
His sons did not presume to donbt him; 
Some of the older soldiers may, 

But they judged it wise to refrain from speaking. 



On they marched, in solemn fashion, 

One hundred million fighting men ! 
Swarming over the streams that splash on 

Bare brown ankles, and out again. 
Clambering cliffs, still mounting higher, 

Each summit revealing new peaks afar; 
Till the King's grey veterans wondered why, or 

Where went his Majesty, Mandhatar ! 



MANDHATAE. 147 

They marched, — and day by day, grown bolder, 
The King's sons laughed and frolicked, as when 

With arrows hanging upon the shoulder, 
They mocked the tiger in his den. 



Up steeper slopes the army pressed, 
The green earth sank below, 

And the mountain wind blew through them ; 
In icy mail the troops were dressed, 
In icy chains the streams repressed. 

Through pathless wastes of dazzling snow 

And swallowed in clinging mists they go. 

Some mighty influence drew them ! 



— The mist unfolded its arms of might, 

The wind dispersed it slowly; 
And there — there — on the utmost height 
A vision filled the monarch's sight 

A vision pure and holy; 
A splendid temple unknown of stains, 
The pure white palace where Indra reigns. 



Not then did Mandhatar retreat; 
He urged his soldiers to Indra' a feet. 



148 MANDHATAK. 

A cloud of deities met the King, 
Beckoning; 
With terrible eyes they beckoned him 
Through countless corridors, vast and dim, 
Till he stood alone, 
On the ivory steps of Indra's throne. 



The god looked calmly upon the King. 

'" What wilt thou have? " he said. 
About the throne a wondrous ring 
Of lesser gods sat listening, 

As the monarch raised his head. 



Now Mandhatar was bold enough, 
Made of the sternest warlike stuff; 

So lie gazed on the godheads there, 
And owned Avhat chiefly his soul desired, 
In a few plain words. The King aspired 
To Indra's ivory chair! 



He looked around for his veteran horde 
Who might uphold his royal word; 

But some curious occult force 
Had hidden from eye and hushed from ear 
Plume and shell and shining spear, 

Foot, chariot and horse ! 



MANDHATAR. 149 

Upon his throne grave Indra smiled. 

" Take thou the half," quoth Indra mild. 

Then Mandhatar sat side by side 

With the god, and his heart was oppressed with pride. 

He gazed askance at the priceless throne, 
Where heavenly Indra had reigned alone 
.For countless ages. Then there stirred 
A vague ambition. And Indra heard 
A low, persuasive voice at his side : 
" Power is never so deep and wide 
That it serves for two. Ah ! — fain would I 
Reign alone in the earth and sky ! " 

—Then vanished in demoniac mirth 
Tower and terrace; — shook the earth 
In a furious transport. The gods arose 
To whiter heights beyond the snows, 
And Mandhatar, uncrowned, alone, 
Groped wildly for-iiis ivory throne. 

All had been granted — all been given, 
Until he claimed the whole of heaven ! 

Down the mountain side there caine 
One sad grey figure, bent and Lame. 



150 MANDHATAE. 

To a ryot's hut he made his way, 

Dying, dying; 
His sons dispersed, his army lost, 
Locked in adamantine frost, 
All his warrior legions lying. 

The ryot raised the royal head; 

To him the monarch, faltering, said : 

" Were a mountain of gold like Himavant, 
It could not satisfy the want 

Of a single human creature, 
Far to go and little to win, 
Confusion of pride and folly and sin. 

This is human nature ! " 

The ryot held the royal head; 

And shrieked a prayer. The King was dead ! 

You who would follow your fate too far, 
Ponder the lesson of Mandhatar ! 



In Indian lore this tale is known, 
Redacted by some ancient sage 

From faint tradition, that had grown 
The my thus of another age. 



MANDHATAH. 151 



From myth to metaphor it passed, 
Religion — poetry— at last 

Transplanted to my modern page. 
It only serves a light to cast 

On human nature's heritage. 



Lewie. 



«\ AMETHYST splendor of dawn on the height, 
^"^ Full smiling and tender, O dawn of delight, 
Descend from insensible peaks to my breast ! 
The crystalline arches of heaven are not far, 
March downward, as marches by channel and bar 
The great tidal billow's unconquerable crest. 



O billow, defiant of fate, limitless, 
Upreaching and giant, — O wave of success, 
Mount up to my heart with your hurrying tide; 
Sweep over the islands and over the beach, 
And up to the highlands of happiness reach 
With floods of delight spreading boldly and wide 



poverty. 



RAPPED in precious poverty, 
Let the world go wrangle; 
Work and worry ! I am free 
Of the coil and tangle. 

I sit under scented trees, 

Listening to the linnet; 
A running brook of melodies, 

With heaven's own sunshine in it- 
No one seeks my bower out, 

No one mars the singing 
With a tone of vulgar doubt, 

Bitter comment flinging, 

On my life, my hope, my aim ! 

No, I dream securely; 
Debtor to no low-born fame, 

Taking pleasure purely. 

World, go by me ! I am free 

Of doubt and toil and money ; 
On the bread of poverty 

Is spread life's sweetest honey. 



POVERTY. 153 



u 



Black vexatious fiends, avaunt ! 

Column after column, 
You have spoiled my gayest chant, 

With monitions solemn. 

Strike them out ! The figures lie ! 

They shall not deceive me ; 
Guarded now by poverty 

The devils needs must leave me. 

I am free ! O blessed birth, 

When from fate's unkindness 

Burst the beauty of the earth . 

O marvellous the blindness, 

That, beholding from this sea, 

The living sun arisen, 
Barters free-limbed poverty 

For wealth in chains and prison. 



APPILY Avaken, my dear, to-day; 
Lovely lights are over the bay ; 
And see how the mountainous islands shine, 
Tender and pure as that soul of thine, 
While here T wait — wait — wait — 
For melodious footsteps, the feet of Fate. 



/WEET and sharp the woman is. 
Slender, willowy, pale of face; 
Lightnings lurk within her kiss, 
Love within her subtle grace. 

Youth, be wise, and pass her by ! 

Be not woven in her chains. 
All the sweetness soon shall fly, 

Only bitter truth remains. 

While her lips are red with mirth, 
While her eyes lie deep below 

Half-shut lids, she rules the earth 
Better than her lovers know. 

Neither time nor grief shall touch 

Her who is not debtor to 
Youth or gladness overmuch 

For the spell that conquers you. 

Let her pass the fiery path 

All alone, disconsolate, 
Reap the whirlwind's furrowing wrath 

Scorned of gods and cursed of fate. 



Wait. 



// AIT till the time lias come to part, 
Before you scan my faults so near. 

There's little enough in a human heart 

To surfeit with praise while you hold it dear. 

Wait till the last hour to say : I knew 

Love could be never enough for you ! 



My foolish weakness — my foolish pride — 
Look not upon it too wisely yet. 

There's time enough, in my youth I cried, 

To weep when the whole wild world is wet. 

And I flew from the quick videttes of pain, 

Waiting till winter to think of the rain ! 



Then why, with summer still sweet on the sea, 
Torture us both with jealous fears ? 

Can you think to change the soul that is me, 
Or that love can live in anger and tears ? 

You say true love is jealous. Hut I, 

Love is no longer sweet ! Good Bye ! 



\e £^h Wu^iorc. 



§RING my last illusion nearer, 
Friendly Time, and let me see. 
Since my sight is surely clearer 

Than the sight of youth could be, 
(Dream and dream go by so fast,) 
Why the sweetest is the last ? 



Dearest Time, in dispossessing 

Me of youthful charm and power; 

You have brought a better blessing, 
Gift not born of any hour ! 

(Dream and dream go by so fast, 

Still the sweetest is the last. ) 



If a color yet were wanting, 

One more charm — a tint — a tone- 
To fulfill my last enchanting, 

'Tis to know 'twill soon be flown ! 
(Dream and dream go by so' fast, 
Still the sweetest is the last !) 



THE LAST ILLUSION. 157 

While I hoped for endless pleasure, 

Hoped for hours forever sweet ; 
Fiercely clasped a fading treasure, 

Paradise was incomplete. 
(Dream and dream go by so fast. 
Still the sweetest is the last !) 



I, who feel how fleet the minute 
Capture it before 'tis past; 

Finding three-fold rapture in it, 
Knowing that it cannot last. 

Brighter must be love and laughter, 

With black death before and after. 



|f O-DAY at early dawn I heard 
The whistle of an early bird. 
He whistled loud, he whistled clear. 
Willing all the world should hear, 
And every cadence seemed to say. 
"Good morning to this lovely day I" 
The music made my pulses stir 
It was ;i whistling carpenter ! 



Ear^e^a, 



[Written in early youth after devouring Jean Paul's " Titan. "J 



flap] ) WAY with the glitter and glimmer of life ! 

J/J Shall I follow hell-goddesses, pale from the strife 

Of ruin and corpses and things without name, 

Of marriage-bells tolling out utterless shame ? 

Shall I sit in the gleam of their scarlet robes 

While the wilderness echoes with tempests and sobs ? 

No ! Throw clown the banners and bring in the pall, 

Let the darkness of death be flung over it all. 



They smiled in the front of all battles. They came 
Between me and the sabres with faces aflame. 
They smiled and sang : Sweetest soul we would win, 
And it heated my heart into madness and sin. 
O I lie in the meadows; I dream and despair 
Of the bare lithe arms and the wild flowing hair. 
And I fly to the poppy-beds, longing for rest, 
With the light of temptation afire in my breast. 



EUREKA. 159 

Let me sleep ! I have sought inaccessible shrines, 

Over the mountains and under the mines. 

Through myriad agonies shrinking I pass, 

Finding no Lethe-cup of confusions. Alas ! 

Let me turn from the lithe arms and wild streaming hair, 

To the poppies that lie in the luminous air. 

So gently upon me their odors shall creep, 

I never shall wake, but live always asleep. 



I have found it ! No hell-goddess beckons me now. 
The sound of the waters is gentle and low; 
The poppies reach not to the height of my eyes, 
Yet the murmur and odor can deafen all cries; 
Can dispel all delusions of glances and forms 
That drift through red terrors of beauty and storms; 
Spread quiet around me and peace in my breast, 
And lull me to sleep on the lilies of rest. 



The fiery-eyed world j*eems so dim in the past 
That I fancy sweet Death has relieved me at last. 
But the dear mother, Nature, smiles back a denial 
And I thrill underneath the rare bloom of her smile. 
Then shadowy forms of the brute-world arise. 
Looking into my covert witli opal-hued eyes, 
And stiii- faces brighten, and leafy arms wave, 
And waterfalls call me from out of my grave. 



160 EUREKA. 

There is peace in the air, full contentment and peace; 
The trees never die, and the streams never cease. 
Let me lie in the shadow and dream on the shore 
Of the joy that possesseth the earth evermore 
Of pale clinging mosses and delicate flowers, 
Gold blossoming vines and gold blossoming stars; 
And winds bearing music from tropical seas; 
The guerdons of nature, the blessings of peace. 



O thou dear mother, Nature, what talent is mine 
Which brings me access to thy holiest shrine ? 
What tone of the soul or of presence have 1 
To accord with thy song-bursts of pure melody ? 
And she answers : My darlings I know and accept. 
Through asons of ages these plains I have kept 
For the ripened and purified ones that I see 
Return love for love in full measure to me ! 



They start in the world with young hearts incomplete, 
And worship their idols of clay ; till they meet 
The fierce tide of revenges and tumults and wars, 
Whose foam steameth up between them and the stars. 
Then they rise from their altars, and boldly march forth 
With the masses who go to enfranchise the earth; 
They try to uplift the great standard of Right 
With their feeble young wrists, — and they fall in the fight ! 



EUKEKA. 161 

Or caught by the whirlwinds of passion, they drive 

With the Furies around the fierce maelstroms of life ; 

They exult in the storm : Death is better than calm ! 

They follow the phantoms of blood and of flame; 

With lurid eyes glowing and white lips that burn, 

The lessons of battle and tumult they learn; 

Till their souls shrink away from the bitter unrest, 

And drop down from the height, and lie cold in the breast. 



Then I find them ! I take the spent lives in my hands, 
I revive them with breezes from warm unknown lands; 
I cover the blood-stains defiling the ground 
With my deep purple pansies; and heal them of wound 
With the juice of my poppies; and sweet quiet lies 
And shall lie forever upon the tired eyes. 
Restored and grown wiser, my children shall say 
That mine is the best and most excellent way. 



%^-EERE some fair forgotten river 

Ran so many years ago; 
Love took all I had to give her, 
Left me by the sighing river, 

Years ago ; 
Laughed and left me, years ago ! 



1 



J3 p^ay^r 3 f ^ F^airc. 

OUTH, to the south are the wild geese going, 
South, from the south are the rain-winds blowing. 
Lilies thrill in the ground for growing. 
Rain, give us rain ! 



All are singing the self-same ditty; 
Come, black clouds, come cover the city; 
Cry, clouds, cry with heavenly pity, 
Sweet tears of rain. 

For the air is sick with the sound of sighing 
Over the heads of the children dying, 
Listen, Lord, to the children crying; 
Rain, give them rain ! 



((M) LINK of hammer and clash of saw ! 

Over the way my neighbor-in-law 
Is building a house of quirks and quirls, 
With a foretop banged like a forward girl's. 



Cf^i^tma^. 



/ll^HE " ghost of Christmas past " has haunted m 
Through all the merry music of the day; 
Faint, quivering hands upon my spirit play, 
As on a time-worn harp ! I would be free ! 



So saying I looked across the surging sea, 

And saw, beyond the islands, far away, 
A light uprisen, and heard .deep voices say 

All strength is born through great extremity. 



From dead delights to power would'st thou climb ? 

Rise, crowned with resolution ! Seek no more 
The petty pleasures of thy youthful prime, 

But cast thy lines upon an ampler shore, 



So shalt thou find, when earthly follies flee, 
Lite's best reward — the joys of poverty ! 



Efye Eod of LsoVe. 



OLDEN days of love are over, 
Golden dreams of love and lover 



Now I turn to house and lands, 
Undeterred by warning hands; 



Undismayed by voices crying : 
Can you sing with Love a-dying ? 



Sing ? Ay, can I, songs that soar 
Into heaven evermore. 



Surely life has other measures, 
Ampler and more lasting pleasures. 



Yet will foolish poets hold 
Love above my lands and gold. 



Fp&<JmeBb». 



fYE, rich in joy and rich in youth, 
We have been long ago; 
But on the meadows where we trod 
Has fallen fatal snow. 

Time's cold translucent mantle hides 
The verdure of the plain, 

And on the whiteness of her breast 
Lie sanguine flowers of pain . 



Between the mountains and the sea 

The good physician lies; 
Mother and children cry in vain 
For the kindly voice that stilled their pain, 
For never, never, never again 

Shall the friendly form arise, 
Till the heights are still and the hills are dumb 

In the hush of the Judgment Day ; 
Then shall the good physician come, 

And sorrow be banished away. 



166 FRAGMENTS. 

Caballeros ! Black or gold 

As your beards may be; 
Here my chosen Knight behold, 
Frank and faithful, gay and bold, 
Wise enough, — and nine years old I 



What's a foe ? A man who hates 
But never haunts my soul's estates; 

A man who curses me but goes ! 

Heaven ! Take my friends and spare my foes. 



Once, the red beauty of blood 
Rushed, an impetuous flood, 

To the signal place. 
Once, it was blushes that came, 
In sudden surges of flame, 

Over my face . 

Now, the emotions that rise 
Spring from my heart to my eyes, 

While the cheek is cold. 
And the blossoms of youthful pain 
Rise not, nor redden again, 

Over brows grown old ! 



FRAGMENTS, 167 

Chattering world, adieu, adieu ! 

This is my last warning; 
I have paid my debts to you, 

Paid you scorn for scorning. 
From you I forever fly 

On silver wings of morning, 



O soul that is watching ! O soul that despairs 

Of any delight or of dawn; 
Behold in the East where the yellow sun flares 

And the terrible phantom has gone, 



Let me leave this wretched people, 

Leave their ghastly monuments; 
Things that might be better buried 

Out of sight ! The wind-blown tents, 
The pretentious palace, shaken 

By the earthquake, or the low 
Tile-roofed cottage on the seashore, 

Washed by tides in overflow. 



pitiless city ! Unholy, accursed ! 

1 beg not for pity. The cloud that has burst, 

That floods the fair lowlands and breaks to the sea, 
Has never yet humbled the spirit in inc. 



168 FKAGMENTS. 

No one knows how wild the world is, 
Who was always sheltered warm; 
No one knows how fierce the cold is 
Who has never felt the storm. 
Friends like frightened sea-birds, fly 

Fast before the weather; 
Friendship and prosperity 

Blow down the wind together. 



The wanderer, borne over seas, 

Grows weary of watching the foam , 

And longs for the village's peace, 
The quiet contentment of home. 



Despite the glance of bold electric eyes; 

Despite delirious kisses, which have pressed 
The truth from shrinking lips, I cannot rest 

In this ignoble gloom, — I will arise 

From base material joys to purer skies. 
With spiritual light I must be blessed 
Naught else can soothe and satisfy my breast, 

Since in all earth delights a demon lies ! 



FRAGMENTS. 169 



Quaint and saucy cyclamen, 
Lift your little head again ! 
All the wild Canada lies 
Bare beneath the smiling skies, 
And madronos, peeling red, 
Tell the world of winter dead. 

Whirring insects stop to look 
At their shadows in the brook; 
When the saucy cyclamen 
Lifts her rosy head again. 



What manner of men are these ? 
Tossed in the trough of the seas, 

With strange lands lying a-lee; 
On a ship without a helm, 
The muttering waves must overwhelm, 

Singing so merrily ? 

These are the wisest of all, 
Before the storm can fall, 

Terror of death at sea; 
AVhile the thunder groans aloud, 
And lightning leaps from the ragged cloud. 

Singing so merrily ! 



170 FRAGMENTS. 



Golden-bearded Hylas, wake ! 
Nymphs are hidden in the brake, 
Wreaths of coral have been wound ; 
Shall thy manly strength be bound, 
And thou, lying cold and white, 
Mock with death the nymphs' delight ? 

Hylas, rise ! O rise and flee ! 
Leave the borders of the sea. 
Inland flowers are blossoming 
On the bosom of the Spring; 
And a faithful maiden waits 
At an inland city's gates. 



Now the morning glories twine 
Paler on their listless vine ; 
Every bird whose blessings rang. 
Brings me now another pang. 
Heavenly songs and smile of stars 
Enter not your prison bars. 



I die without quailing. I owe you no debt 
Of foolish bewailing or fonder regret. 

O sad cruel city ! Your sunlight and sea 
Are all that have ever dealt gently with me. 



FRAGMENTS. 175 



When all youth's fairy lights are out, 
Her fitful friendships over; 

What lamp henceforth shall shine about 
My life ?— What faithful lover 

Bemain to me beyond the hour 

Of youthful charms and worldly power ? 



She may not wear the tulip's dress 
Of many-colored loveliness 

Or lily's stainless bravery. 
Yet give her, in your garden place, 
A little space 

To blossom and to die. 

Here a nameless singer waits 
At your shut rose-garden gates, 

No lofty dreams nor themes have I, 
Yet give me in your heart a place, 
A little space, 

To sing my song and die. 



She sleeps with her face to the south, 

With vine leaves her tresses adorning; 

With moisture of wine on her mouth, 

And kisses of moonlight and morning. 



172 FEAGMENTS. 

The day is for peace and the night is for dreams. 

But peace is too tame for me ; 
And the dream that I will comes never again. 

Listen ! — and learn of the sea ! 

The waters are flung up against the cliff 
And slide back over the sand; 

But we surely know that their ebb and flow 
Are measured by God's own hand. 

So billows of trouble that fly at my heart 

Will some time glide away ; 
But in ebb or in flow, I surely know, 

God's limits they must obey. 



I would fain be young and fair 

Ever, ever, ever; 
What's the charm? O Sibyl, tell me, 
What will keep me fresh and sweet, 
What bring lovers to my feet ? 

Love, my girl, will keep you fair, 

Ever, ever, ever; 
Love's a charm, renewing beauty, 
Love will make you ever sweet, 
Love brings lovers to your feet. 



FKAGMENTS. 173 

No painted and smiling Delilah could lure you, 

If in your own soul lay not stuff for the burning; 
It needs not a prophet or priest to assure you, 
That back from her toils is no hope of returning ! 

She takes all your life for a passionless pastime, 

She vanquishes you with her wild reeling eyes; 

And you drink her nepenthe, the first and the last time, 
With bitter forebodings, and pleasureless sighs. 



The future, that veiled is to mortal, 

In clearness of vision shall be 
Fore-known to the earth and the sunlight, 

To canon and summit and sea. 
Our poor eyes we strain, and see only 

An island at farthest; but far 
By island and island the endless 

Bold fronts of new continents are. 



Dead ! And I sigh as I say it. 

Should not a woman weep ? 
It is dead, my love, and I lay it 

In a grave very dark and deep, 
Remembering only to pray it 

May never awake from its sleep. 



1?4 FBAGMENTS. 

This is all ! You cannot alter 

Spoken words and looks askance. 

Why then should you turn and falter, 
Seeking in my countenance, 

Half forgiveness, half a sign 

Of regrets that are not mine '? 



Lilian Bell goes crying and crying 
Over the meadow and down in the dell; 
Her hair is all loose and her ribbons all %ing. 
What is the matter with Lilian Bell ? 

Tie up your tresses, my Lilian, listen ! 
For hither comes Mimi and Lulu and Nell ; 
Laughing and mocking : O is'nt it shocking, 
She's lost her last lover, poor Lilian Bell ! 

Mimi's as bright as a sunbeam, and knows it ! 
Lulu 's the wildest, the wickedest belle; 
Fairer than either, as fresh and demure as 
A daisy, is dear little innocent Nell. 



Springing up in hollows wet, 
Dear my darling violet; 
Do you know how winter snow 
Hides your Eastern comrades yet '? 



FRAGMENTS. 175 

Wftcl Toses swing over my head, and their blossoms 

Are sweet in the morning to me ; 
Are sweet in the morning, 
Are faded at noon time. 

Are dead in the evening, 
And death is upon us. 

Where then can we flee ? 



Every voice is full of glee, 
Smiling every mouth ; 

Northern Christmas it may be, 
But Christ is of the South. 



Berries light the Northern tree, 
Wines delight the mouth ; 

Christmas loves an icy sea, 

But Christ is of the South. 



Ring the joy bells merrily, 
Smiles on every mouth; 

Joy to Northern Christmas bo, 
But Christ is of the South. 



£' Envoi. 

w EAVES I give you, friend, too hastily gathered, 
Songs which never felt the breath of the people; 
Flnng hap hazard over these tinted pages; 
Just as they lighted. 



Singing softly my youthful recollections; 
Singing wildly of happy days departed ; 
Singing faintly of fast encroaching twilight, 
Whims of the moment; 



Gaiety grown pale with timorous horror; 
Grief grown red with touch of tremulous passions; 
Gaunt despair, burnt white in a fiery furnace, 
Hot for the anvil ; 



Songs, with patient care, some, flattered and moulded; 
Some thrown off in an hour of reckless revels, 
Some which sprang unwittingly to my fingers, 
Wherefrom, I know riot ! 



178 



Wise it were, for an unknown poet, doubtless, 
Leaves to pluck more carefully for the critics, 
Those who minded are to upbraid the singer, 
Noting his limits; 



If he chance to follow an ancient master, 
If he paint impossible truthful pictures. 
Is it then in power of immanent genius 
Eoses to gather, 



Out of sullen fields or dustiest highways, 
Marsh-flowers, all untainted with stagnant water 
Cactus blooms away from the sandy desert, 
Figs upon thistles ? 



Not the same grow maddening pains and roses ! 
Pearl of the world, my love, my friend, my comradi 
Even if drops of heartsblood stain the pages, 
Do not betray me ! 



Yet believe, believe not all I teach thee, 
Idler sage, or innocent trustful maiden. 
Take the good and eschew ye all the evil. 
That will reward me ! 



lodex. 



Title. Page, 

Adios 71 

Adyeksity 48 

After All . 90 

After Death 24 

After the Storm 49 

Alain 100 

Amreeta 40 

Anathema 32 

Annette 88 

Aspiration 132 

Atalanta 105 

At Bay 64 

Atlas 75 

At the Fair 20 

August 130 

' ' Awaken O Poet " 2H 

Bankrupt 26 

Barbara s 112 

Beauty 94 

Before the Storm 49 

Broken L37 

Capriccioso 30 

Carmeltta f>7 

Cecile 7:; 

Centennial 1 ;;,"> 

China Liles 62 

Christmas L63 



Christmas, 1883 119 

Christmas Lyric 37 

Christmas Roses 31 

" Clink op Hammer " 162 

Coron ado Beach 53 

Dancing Triolets 28 

Dead Day 41 

Dead* Rose 14 

" Dear Earthly Mother t ' 123 

1 ' Death Sleeps " 52 

Delaware 17 

De Profundis .... 107 

Duetto 110 

Eaglet 67 

Elise 89 

End of Love 164 

Envoi , 177 

Episode 68 

eschscholtzia 43 

Eureka 158 

Fate 93 

Footsteps 72 

Forgotten River 161 

Fragments 165 

Garden Song 63 

Gods to Hear 131 

' ' Grapes are Good " 116 

"Happily Waken " 153 

Hermit's Conclusions 15 

H. G 108 

Illusion, Delusion 74 

Improvisation 102 

In Church 114 

In Extremis Ill 



index. iii 

In Memokiam 117 

In My Garden 92 

In the Channel 82 

Island 84 

Italy and California 134 

"It is not Youe Mountains " 29 

I Will no Heaven 144 

' ' Justice to One " 25 

Laurence , 101 

Lamia 78 

Last Illusion , 156 

Last Mermaid 138 

Last Hide 103 

Linnet 95 

Love in the South 133 

Love too Tender 34 

Lyric 151 

Mandhatar 145 

Masque 129 

Message 9 C S 

Modern Circe 154 

Modern Pythias 118 

Mountain Wine 22 

Mystery of Music 86 

N. L , 104 

Oak and Grevillea 106 

( )< tober 59 

Old Days 1J3 

Omens ( ; ( > 

On e Life j<) 

On Santa Ynez 12 

Passing Santa Barbara [28 

Penseroso 87 

Poetic Paganism ;\ { \ 



Poet's Song 76 

Poverty 152 

Prayer for Rain 162 

Prelude 5 

Presentiment 51 

Red Lilies 50 

Reminiscence 115 

Return 9 

Reverie 91 

Rhapsody 80 

Rosamond 21 

Saint, a 121 

' ' Saint Delicious " 126 

Saved from Wreck 97 

S ea Dream 17 

Sea Leaf 66 

Siesta 120 

Signals 69 

Silence 55 

Smoke 96 

Song 11 

Songs and Singers ... 127 

Street Lyric 8 

Success 56 

Suicide of Sixteen 83 

Sweet Home 7 

' ' Sweet Sea City " ; . . 77 

Sweet Singer, a . . . . 33 

Sylvie 109 

Sympathy SI 

Symphony 42 

Syren, a 121 

Thanksgiving 35 

" There the Bold Day " 61 



Till Death 99 

To-day 79 

" To-day at Early Dawn " 157 

Too Late 44 

Tourist, a 58 

Transitions 70 

" Undaunted and Unmoved " 27 

Under the Mountains 45 

Undertones 39 

Wait ; 155 

Wealth 65 

'• Writu Tenderly " 46 



LBJa'?g 



«b 



ii 



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